Collect Your Courage
by badrefrigerator
Summary: Potter needs control; Draco needs forgiveness. They shag; Lavender gives advice; they yell; Seamus makes muffins; they fight; and everyone else drinks far too much coffee for their own wellbeing.


**a/n: originally written for deirdre_aithne on hdhols.**

**Warning(s): anal sex, blowjobs, mild voyeurism, infidelity, fingering, language, er, drinking too much coffee**

* * *

**Collect Your Courage**

"Harry?" Draco slurred out, then yawned widely, catlike. "You 'wake?" Smoke filtered up in hazy gray clouds, carrying with it a clove scent and a dreamlike quality, and Draco blinked sleepily, sliding his hand out along the rough sheets, fingers spread wide in search of skin until the tips of his fingers brushed against the curve of a bare back and he blinked again, struggling to pull himself awake.

"Mmm," came the noncommittal noise and Draco forced his eyes further open as he finally realised that Potter was perched naked on the edge of the bed and that the smoke was coming from the tip of his cigarette. "'M awake."

Draco was silent for a moment, relaxing back against the harsh sheets (too rough for his delicate skin, his mother would say) and the cheap mattress and the lumpy pillow. Something was poking up against his lower back but he found himself unable to switch positions, his muscles still slow and loose from his orgasm. How long had he been asleep? How long had Potter been awake? He wanted to reach out again, wanted to feel the smooth skin of Potter's bare back but something held him back, something that whispered _rejection_.

"I should probably go soon."

Draco winced. He knew it was coming - had known it was coming since the moment they agreed to meet here and now in this dingy hotel room, but somehow it still stung. He tried to inject nonchalance into his tone: "Mrs. Potter making something good for dinner?"

"Yeah," snorted Potter, and if Draco could see his expression, he knew he would find it laced with irritation and self-resentment. The cigarette dropped to the floor, brutally crushed under a bare heel. "Wanna join us? Maybe afterward we can all go out for ice cream with Ron and Hermione. What exactly would you call that? It wouldn't be a double date; maybe a -"

"Potter," said Draco tightly, all sleepiness gone from his body. He held himself tense, eyes as guarded, mouth a hard line.

He felt the bed shake when Potter laughed bitterly. "There it goes - from Harry back to Potter. Home sweet home." He got to his feet, slow and languid and uncaring about his nakedness. "Had a nice nap then?"

"How long was I out?" asked Draco, defensive. Why did Potter have to make it sound so fucking _wrong _just to take a bloody nap after sex? He'd long since quit trying to wrap himself around Potter post-coital and had given up on spending the entire night with him months ago. Was it now too much to ask for just to sink into a light slumber? Was it too much for Potter's fucking emotional radar to handle?

"Only twenty minutes," said Potter, and Draco blinked, caught off guard as Potter turned to him, now dressed in a pair of loose trousers, and - Draco felt the slightest smile turn up his lips at Potter's completely unkempt hair, at the bright beautiful shine of Potter's eyes without his glasses -

"What?" asked Potter, frowning. "What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, nothing," he said. "With anyone else, I'd be worried about having sex hair, but with you..."

Potter's hand reached up to flatten his hair automatically, although Draco couldn't understand why he even bothered at this point; if there was one thing that hadn't changed since Hogwarts, it was Harry Potter's fucking hair. Well, that and his stupid Gryffindor tendencies to blame himself for all the evils of the world. After a moment, the corner of Potter's mouth twitched into a reluctant half-smile. "Prick. It's s'not my fault you're so damn grabby, is it? How is _anyone_ supposed to have presentable hair with you running your hands through it all the sodding time?"

Draco stretched lazily, the sheet falling down to his waist as he folded his arms behind his head. "Well, maybe if you had better rhythm, I wouldn't need to hold on so tight."

Potter snorted. "You like my rhythm. Admit it."

Draco purposely yawned. "Perhaps. There must be some reason I keep coming back, I suppose - and it certainly isn't your charming personality."

"Maybe it's my enormous prick," suggested Potter hopefully, and Draco snorted. Potter scowled. "Why is that so amusing to you, Malfoy?"

Draco smiled innocently. "Amusing? I'm not amused. Why would I be amused by your _enormous _prick?"

Potter harrumphed and looked like he was about to answer - when his watch, which was draped over the nearby dresser, buzzed slightly and chirped, "_Dinner in fifteen minutes!_"

They both froze - Potter at the end of the bed, dressed only in trousers, and Draco still sprawled naked on the uncomfortable bed - and then before Draco could even sit up, Potter had wandlessly summoned his remaining clothes into his hand and was dressing in a hurry, hair growing still more ruffled as he jerked his shirt over his head and tried to shove his feet into shoes at the same time.

Draco recoiled slightly, still unused to Potter's casual shows of wandless magic even after spending countless hours together over the past few months. He swallowed tightly, stomach rolling with unease, and tried to think of something that might make Potter stay just a few moments longer.

"I - Potter -"

"Later, Malfoy," interrupted Potter with a brusque expression, eyes hard as he pulled his glasses onto his face. "I'll - owl you sometime. Maybe. It might be a while before I'm free again."

The easy air had disappeared. Draco felt a flash of disappointment flash across his face before he shuttered his expression closed and stood up, reaching for his black silk pants and slipping them on before hesitantly reaching out for Potter. "So -"

Potter stepped out of Draco's reach almost as a reflex and then he seemed to realise what he'd done and they both stared at each other for a moment, at a standstill.

Draco felt his expression shut further. "Right. You have to leave. So - maybe later, Potter."

"Right," he said and there was another moment as if Potter were waiting for Draco to reach for him again - and then they both stepped away from each other at the same moment and Potter's wand appeared in his hand and he stared into Draco's eyes only for a moment longer before his mouth quirked up in a little smirk. "Thanks for the fuck, Malfoy."

There was a _crack_, and he was gone.

And Draco was alone in the filthy hotel room, wondering how the hell he got mixed up with this shit in the first place.

**six months, four days prior**

It was a Tuesday, which was, in Draco Malfoy's superior opinion, the worst day of the week.

It was an especially horrid Tuesday this week, the type of Tuesday that sent brave men into becoming alcoholics and bad men into becoming worse men - as this was the day Head Healer George Chambers had claimed as his own to teach all the Healers in Training how to separate blood samples for testing, a boring subject on its own but made ten times worse by his droning voice and the utter lack of humor resonating from every cell in his body.

"... and, considering the magical properties of blood type A Positive versus that of blood type B Negative, along with Blood Status, of course, we can thereby assume that the wand movement must also differentiate, in that -"

A slight scuffle by the door interrupted him, and he slowly lifted his gray, bushy eyebrows, letting his white oak wand drop down to his side as if he wasn't quite sure what it was doing up in the first place. "Whoever it is -" he began in his slow voice and then a young man wearing bright lime green robes burst between the group of trainees and Draco made a sound of impatience as the man held a hand up, panting.

"Sir - sir," said the man, eyes wide. The badge clipped to his robes read 'Knowles.' "Group of Aurors injured, brought into the Emergency Ward; they need your assistance, sir, some of them are rather nastily off."

"Right," said Chambers, and it was downright infuriating how calm he sounded, particularly in contrast with the excitable young man who had brought the news. "Trainees, return to your individual departments -"

Draco could have almost cheered; no more bloody Chambers! No more lectures! Free time!

" - and we shall return to this lesson at a different time. Expect further information."

Draco scowled.

"Sir -" began the young man timidly. "Uh, Healer Addams suggested a few of the trainees might do well to see how to react firsthand in this situation?"

Chambers considered this for a long moment (_too_ long, and why did they even have such a stupid slow idiot as head of his department anyway, thought Draco savagely) and finally the elderly man nodded briefly and Draco's stomach dropped. Of course he wouldn't be chosen for a role such as this; he was, after all, the only trainee here wearing a Dark Mark. Why the hell should he be expected to be chosen when there were witches like Rebecca Nance in attendance who had known they'd wanted to be a Healer since they were seven bloody years old? Draco had only decided to be a Healer last year, after all, and it was only his extraordinary Potions NEWT that had managed to -

"Malfoy, Miss Brown, Andrews, and Nott. Good enough for you?" asked Chambers gruffly, addressing Knowles, who looked shocked at being consulted - about as shocked as Draco felt at being chosen.

Him? He - well, he wasn't - he glanced at the other three chosen and was met with utter excitement from Lavender Brown and Matt Andrews, and utter boredom from Theodore Nott. He opened his mouth, about to ask - and then Nott caught his eye, just for a second, and barely shook his head, thin lips pressed together in what could have been annoyance or confusion or, hell, even hunger. For a fellow Slytherin who had been in Draco's year, he'd never been too close to Nott, too busy with his own problems to pay attention to the studious, dark-haired boy, and now he felt himself inexplicably obeying that one gesture, his mouth falling closed and his eyes dropping to the floor.

A flurry of movement a moment later drew his eyes back up and he abruptly found himself alone with the other chosen trainees and Chambers himself. The young man from before had vanished.

"Well," huffed Chambers. "Let's get this on with; we've wasted enough time already. Hop to it!"

Draco jumped slightly, feeling twitchy, and then walked after his three peers, shooting a nasty look over his shoulder at Chambers (_we've_ wasted enough time, he scoffed silently), before returning his attention to the front, adrenaline quickening his step. The Emergency Ward was one of the main things everyone seemed to talk about during breaks - breaks where Draco sat by himself, yeah, but he still had _ears_. He could hear the longing in everyone's voice when they talked about the Emergency Ward, though he himself had always favored the below-ground Potions lab. And while he'd never had a particularly strong urge to see people mortally wounded - well, mainly he just liked that he was seeing what everyone else wanted to see but didn't get a chance to. _He_ had been chosen, goddammit, and about time.

Lavender Brown's voice broke through his thoughts: "Did they say which Aurors they were bringing in?"

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Andrews, lifting his eyebrows as he sped up.

Draco frowned, jogging slightly to keep up with the pack. "What?" he demanded, lost from their conversation but determined to be involved. "Who?"

It was Nott who spoke next. "Potter."

Draco almost skidded to a complete stop but Nott's elbow in his back pushed him forward and he kept walking. "_Potter_? But - they said Aurors, not - not Auror trainees or whatever." And why did it really matter to him, really, if Potter was injured or not? He hadn't seen Potter since the series of trials just after the war ended, and that had been seven years ago. No, he didn't give a single shit if Potter had landed himself in the hospital - except the words _life debt_ abruptly seemed burned to the forefront of his mind and why did it always have to be fucking Potter?

Lavender gave him an odd look. "Harry _is_ an Auror, Malfoy; he graduated from the trainee program last year."

"It was in the papers," said Andrews pompously, sneering at Draco in a way that said, _How could you not know this? Too busy with Death Eater meetings? Fuck you. _"Him and Weasley."

"The entire graduating class was in the papers, actually," pointed out Nott, sounding disinterested with the conversation. "It is every year."

"Yeah, but Potter's picture was on the front page. When have you seen an Auror graduate on the front page of the Daily Prophet when he's yet to do anything?" insisted Andrews, and Lavender opened her mouth, about to interject when suddenly there was a loud commotion in front of them and they all stopped and stared because the very person they were currently discussing was standing right in front of them, throwing hexes.

"Down!" shrieked a voice, and everyone except Draco dropped to the floor just as a brightly coloured spell whizzed past his elbow.

He blinked, glancing down at his peers cowering on the floor, and then looked straight at Potter who was breathing heavily and - oh, fuck, pointing a wand directly at him. "Uh, Potter?" asked Draco, and a smarter man might have turned and ran at the absolute fury in the man's eyes, but Draco just stood there, feeling incredibly non-threatening in his lime green Healer trainee robes and small badge that proclaimed, _"My name is: D. Malfoy!"_

"Get the fuck away from me," snarled Potter, and just barely twitched his wand in Draco's direction - but it was enough to send Draco flying back until he slammed into a wall, a groan leaving his lips as he collapsed to the ground in a heap. "All of you! _NO_," roared Potter, spotting an older man retrieving his wand and he - Draco's eyes widened, because that time, Potter hadn't even moved his wand; that time, all he'd done was throw his arm out in the direction of the other wizard and he'd fallen limp immediately.

Dead or just unconscious?

Draco held his breath until he saw the man's hand twitch idly. Just unconscious then. Still.

Holy shit.

Draco started to push himself shakily up, his arms threatening to give out when suddenly someone was gripping his arm and holding him still and he looked up through his fringe, right into the terrified eyes of Lavender Brown.

Was she here to help him? He hadn't thought she'd cared; he hadn't thought anyone cared.

"Get him out of here," she whispered and - oh. Potter. Right. Of course it was about fucking Potter. Draco felt a scowl cross his face and then he winced as her sharp nails dug into his upper arm. "Malfoy - it's - he's out of control of his magic, get him _out_."

"I -" he began, because he dearly did not want to stand in front of Potter again, but a look at the scars on her face that Greyback had caused (_that you caused,_ a voice whispered), the terror in her eyes, and he found himself caving in. Shit. He was going soft. Blaise was going to laugh his arse off about this. "Okay, but get everyone else out while I'm busy turning into a goddamn Hufflepuff - and be quick about it, yeah?"

She nodded and then they separated, Draco getting to his feet and Lavender crawling back into the midst to direct everyone away. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and purposely left his wand in his pocket as he walked back towards the still-shouting Gryffindor.

"Potter!" he called, a few meters away, and lifted his chin defiantly as the angry, wild eyes landed on him again. "What happened - someone give you the wrong type of tea or something? Bloody hell, Potter, untwist your knickers and let the people without scars on their foreheads walk down a fucking hallway without throwing a fit," he drawled, expression purposely droll.

"I -_ what_?" demanded Potter, and his wand was still pointed at Draco but now it started to shake, just barely. "M-Malfoy?"

Draco took it as a good sign. "Isn't this all a bit of an overkill?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows in feigned disbelief. "Merlin, if you wanted the front page of the Daily Prophet again, why didn't you just go help an old lady cross the street? Fuck, I'm sure they would have gladly thrown a parade in your honor if you'd just _asked_, stop having a scene."

Potter's hand was shaking more now, a tremor wracking through his upper body and a quick glance around revealed that Lavender had lived up to her half of the deal: almost everyone had vacated the corridor. It was time for Draco to do his part. He swallowed, taking a step forward, and when he wasn't immediately blown into bits, took another step.

"Potter, get your shit together," he said in a low voice, jerking his head down to indicate Potter's wand. "Going to kill me right here in the middle of the hallway? After what my mother did for you?" He gave Potter a pointed look and then reached out and wrapped his long, pale fingers around Potter's wrist, slowly slowly drawing his hand down until the wand was pointed at the floor. Draco pressed his lips together, trying to hide his relief, his fingers unconsciously clenching around Potter's hard arm.

Something twisted in him as Potter looked up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

"Malfoy - _Malfoy_ -"

"Come on," said Draco grimly. His head ached, his back hurt, and he had a nasty suspicion that Blaise was definitely going to find out about this and definitely call him _Hufflepuff Draco_ for the rest of his life. Bullocks. He pulled Potter towards a small storage room, pulling the door open and pushing Potter in first before closing and locking the door with a wave of his wand. The room was dim until Draco cast another spell and suddenly they were both illuminated, the shadows making Potter look far older than he was. "Now. Care to explain what the hell all that was about?"

"I -" said Potter, looking lost as he looked around the room and then back at Draco. "I didn't know you worked here."

Draco really looked at Potter for the first time then, eyes skimming the broad shoulders and the muscles just barely visible underneath the thick Auror robes. There was a shadow of scruff on Potter's face and he stood differently, as if the burdens of his childhood had finally been lifted from his shoulders - he was taller, stronger, darker. Time had passed in which neither one had seen the other and now Potter was different and Draco wondered if Potter thought he was different as well. "I'm a trainee," he said shortly, crossing his arms. "And speaking of work, isn't that where you should be right about now?"

"I came to see what happened to -" began Potter before he broke off and looked at Draco with a wild light shimmering just underneath the surface of his eyes. "Ron. Ron - they brought him in, they said he was hurt, it's just like -"

"Potter," said Draco in a tight voice, clenching his wand at his side and resisting the urge to straight-out point it at the other man. "You need to _calm down_. Whatever happened to Weasley, whatever the fuck went wrong - you throwing people around in a hallway is not helping matters."

Potter stared at him for a moment longer, his eyes burning into Draco in a way that no others did - and he realised, just then, how little people looked at him directly in the eyes any more. They glanced his way, if he spoke; they scanned his direction when they replied. But no one truly _looked_ at him. Were they scared of catching some secret ex-Death Eater virus? He met Potter's gaze, feeling open and defiant under the scrutiny of those green eyes - and just when he was about to speak up again, Potter looked away.

"I'm supposed to be there for him," he said in a low voice.

Draco frowned. "What do you -"

"He's not supposed to get _hurt_, Malfoy, what part of that do you not understand? I'm -"

"You're what?" said Draco, lifting his eyebrows. "His caretaker? His precious _daddy_? He's his own man, Potter; he doesn't need you to follow him around with a fucking potion for everything that goes wrong. Hogwarts is over."

And then Potter started pacing in the limited area, back and forth, back and forth like a dark shadow. He was a caged animal, he was a storm on the horizon. His next words were hurled over his shoulder: "I _know _that Hogwarts is over, Malfoy. You don't have to remind me."

"Doesn't look like it," said Draco, sneering out of habit. "Looks like you're having a bit of an..." He paused, expression turning mildly thoughtful. "... episode."

Potter stopped as far away from Draco as the room allowed, turning to stare at him. "What are you talking about?"

"What happened? Did you lose control?"

For a moment, it looked as though Potter wanted to hex him again and then, grudgingly: "I don't know. It happens sometimes... when I'm not ready for it. These... explosions," he said carefully, each word sounding as if he'd weighed and measured it before coming out in his low timbre. Turning towards a shelf of potions, he lifted a hand, resting long fingers around one dark potion. "Did you make these?"

"Some of them," shrugged Draco. "But all trainees are required to -" he broke off, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Did you just change the subject?"

Potter glanced at him sideways, lips curving into a wry half-smile. "Maybe. Afraid I'm encroaching on your title as Resident Slytherin?"

Draco made a disgruntled noise. "You're changing the subject again. Stop it."

Potter's smile dropped as he turned back to the potions. "Yeah, well, don't really understand it, do I? What is there to say? That after I killed Voldemort, it felt like this huge dam came undone and all of a sudden there was a shitload of magic that I couldn't control? That whenever I feel like someone I love is in danger, it's like I'm back in the war and -" He stopped. "Why am I telling you this, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, a little bit unnerved to find out that he had wandered closer during Potter's speech. He took a step back. "Maybe because... I'm a Healer? I have a very warm and inviting personality?"

Potter snorted. "Yeah, that must be it. Except you're a trainee; you're not allowed to call yourself a Healer until all the tests are passed."

"Duly noted."

A pause, and Draco really needed a sodding headache potion, only something told him that leaving Potter now in this fragile state of mind might not be the best idea. "You have explosions of magic. Potter, that's not good.

Now the look that Potter sent him was dry, flat. "I can see now why they hired you - all that wild, untamed intuition. Tell me, Healer, what does it mean when my tummy hurts?"

Draco gave him a superior look. "You're lashing out because you know I'm right and because you're afraid to admit it. There, there, Potter, eventually we'll break through that wall of insecurity."

An annoyed expression crossed Potter's face. "Fuck you, Malfoy, you're -"

"Weasley will be fine," interrupted Draco. "Potter, you practically blasted down an entire crowd of people - and if that's not bad enough, you're completely in denial of it as well. You're out of control."

"Well what do you want me to _do_?" burst out Potter and he was back to pacing, raking his hands agitatedly through his hair. "I just attacked a bunch of fucking Healers in a hallway and then I came into this abandoned holding cell with you and told you my whole fucking sob story - and yes, this has happened before, and _yes,_ I have no idea what to do - so you just standing there _stating the obvious _is not helping," and he finished with a glare, ending up far too close to Draco for comfort.

Draco frowned. "This isn't a holding cell. And it's not abandoned. It's _clearly _a storage room."

"You just missed the entire point."

"Oh, I'm sorry, would you like another chance to do your pacing bit again? You seem to quite enjoy that."

"There better be Healer-Patient confidentiality here, Malfoy."

"Yeah, yeah," said Draco, waving a hand. Then he grinned sharply. "Except I'm only a trainee, remember?"

Potter squinted at him, and Draco abruptly felt self-conscious. "_Why?_"

"Why what?"

"Why did you decide to become a Healer? I thought Malfoys didn't need jobs," said Potter, a tad bit sarcastic.

Draco frowned. "You know just as well as I do that the Ministry asked for retributions from all former -"

"So that's all this is?" interrupted Potter, looking impatient. "An end to make money?"

"I - no," said Draco uncomfortably. "No, it's - I wanted to -"

"What?"

"Help," said Draco lamely. "I wanted to help."

Potter looked utterly taken aback. "You wanted to help."

"That's what I said, isn't it?" asked Draco, irritable under Potter's surprised gaze. Was it that fucking hard to believe Draco could be a decent person if he tried? "Maybe it occurred to me that a lot of people ended up hurt after the war - because of my family, my side, the... Death Eaters, and of course, _him_ -"

"Say it," said Potter abruptly, his eyes dark.

"Say - say -"

"Say his name," he ordered. "_Say_ it."

"I - but, _why_ -"

"_Malfoy._"

"_Voldemort._"

The room crackled with tension.

"Go on," whispered Potter, who now looked entranced for some reason beyond Draco's knowledge.

"I... I - he's the reason so many people were hurt - I was too - I wanted change," said Draco, feeling flustered and unable to quit talking under those burning eyes. "And maybe I was tired of hiding from the Wizarding World, maybe I wanted my mother to be able to shop in London again... Maybe I just wanted to discover new cures because I know - what? Why are you looking at me like? Stop it!"

"Fuck, Malfoy, do you even know what you're _saying_?" muttered Potter, talking another step towards Draco. His eyes had somehow dropped down to half-mast and now they flickered down to look at Draco's mouth before darting back up his eyes. "Also, I think it's time someone told you that lime green is not your colour whatsoever."

"_Well,_" said Draco, affronted, and drew himself up to his full height. "You don't have to be_ rude_," and then it seemed Potter had quite had enough of Draco's talking because he grabbed a fistful of Draco's apparently hideous robes and yanked him forward, and all Draco saw was those hungry eyes right up close before Potter's lips crashed down on his and they were kissing hard, Potter's lips hot and possessive against Draco's.

"Potter!" gasped Draco, struggling to get away and he shoved, pushing Potter back and staring at him with wide eyes. "You can't, Potter, you're - shit, I don't even know what you think you're doing, but you're obviously wouldn't be doing this if -"

"Don't tell me what I do and don't want to do," said Potter, eyes dark with dilated pupils and tongue swiping a wet stripe along his bottom lip. "You've changed, so much."

"You don't know what you're talking about," said Draco automatically, mouth still burning with Potter's kiss. "You don't want me."

"I do want you," murmured Potter, finally moving closer and pressing a warm hand against Draco's chest. "Just - let me."

"You're insane," began Draco and then Potter's lips were on his neck and sucking, and Draco groaned. "_Potter_." And he didn't know why this was happening, didn't know why Potter's hands were pressed against his back and his tongue was sweeping down Draco's chin, tasting him, oh, God, he couldn't even think any more -

"Fuck, Malfoy," said Potter, and then they were kissing again, heatedly, and Potter's tongue was shoving into Draco's mouth, warm and wet and controlling, sliding over Draco's tongue and exploring his mouth almost brutally. Draco moaned, threading his fingers into Potter's hair and holding him closer, their mouths moving in tandem. This certainly wasn't the first man he'd ever kissed, but something about Potter's domineering lips, something about how he still had a handful of Draco's robes and was using it to pull him closer - it made Draco feel young, inexperienced.

They broke apart, both breathing heavily, and stared at each other for a moment, both acknowledging the heat thrumming between them.

"You're not right," said Draco.

"I know," said Potter.

"I mean in the head," clarified Draco.

"I know that too," said Potter.

"Well. I guess it's okay," and what the hell were they doing, what was _Draco_ doing, and he'd never been more acutely aware of his straining erection in his life and his trousers had never felt more unnecessary and - a glance down revealed Potter with the same problem, his hips shifting minutely forward as unconsciously aching for release. He swallowed, Adams' apple bobbing nervously. "Potter," he whispered, eyes glued to the bulge in Potter's trousers.

"Hey," said Potter, and then Draco looked up and they were kissing again - slower, and this time it felt like Potter was taking his time to memorize every inch of Draco's mouth, his taste flooding Draco's senses. Draco whimpered, his hands sliding down to Potter's waist and then back up to push Potter's robes off his shoulders, fumbling to stay connected with that hot mouth as he shrugged out of his own robes. Potter's robes hit the floor and Potter tilted his head, kissing Draco deeper. Draco felt something curl up tight in his stomach and, without thinking, he rolled his hips forward, moaning into Potter's mouth as his clothed cock slid against Potter's - and just like that, Potter broke out of Draco's grasp, looking flustered.

Draco gasped slightly at the sudden loss, his hand automatically reaching up for Potter - and then he dropped it, instead simply standing there with flushed cheeks and a burning pit in his stomach.

Potter was panting, looking just as lost.

"Shit." It was Potter, his voice low and husky. It was the reverse of a fairy tale: his kiss hadn't woken Potter up from a hundred year sleep, it had just woken him up from how goddamn foolish he was acting. "Shit, we fucked up, Malfoy."

Draco stared at him, still trying to regain his bearings. "We - what?"

"We shouldn't have done that."

Quickly, too quickly for Draco to process, Potter bent to pick up his robes and hastily dragged them back on, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth - and sending knives shooting into Draco's chest with each scattered movement.

"But - wait," managed Draco, and he struggled to catch up, unable to think of just what he should be doing as he picked up his wand. "Harry - I mean, was this -"

"It was an accident," cut in Potter, and they both stared at each other, the silence building up in between them. Potter swallowed, hard, and then shook his head. "That's all it was. I freaked out because Ron was in the hospital and it - it made me feel out of control and - and you were here and that's all it was. An accident."

Each word seemed to slice into Draco and he didn't know why it hurt so goddamn much, only that it _did_, and why did Potter have to look at him with such disgust when he'd been looking at him with such longing only a few moments before? Was it because of what Draco used to be? Was it because of the fucking mark on his arm? Draco felt anger rise up in him, anger at his situation and his past and the fact that only Muggles would even glance at him these days and it was all just so fucking _ironic_ that it made him want to throw up.

"Is it because of what I've done? Because you're the one that preached we all needed to move on from the war," spat Draco. "You're the one that -"

"It's because I have a fucking _wife_!" shouted Potter, and he dragged his hands through his hair roughly, looking dangerously out of control once more. "Because I'm married, you fucking _idiot_. Maybe having an affair doesn't matter much to Slytherins, but -"

"I'm not the one who just cheated on his wife," said Draco coolly, drawing himself upright. "Getting a little prejudice, aren't we, Golden Boy? Except not so golden after all, it turns out. Nasty secret, cheating is."

Potter stared at him for a moment as if truly seeing Draco for the first time. "This won't happen again," he finally said in a low, furious voice. "You won't mention it to anyone - and if you do, I'll - I'll -"

"Sputter at me?" asked Draco, feigning a bored expression. "Fly into a rage? Careful, Potter, your Gryffindor is showing. Might want to get that under..." he spared Potter a purposeful look, "_control._"

"Fuck you," said Potter, and he turned, robes flaring out in a vaguely Snape-esque fashion as he stormed away. The doors burst open of their own accord and he disappeared down the hallway, a dark cloud.

"You mean like you wish you could?" called Draco and crossed his arms tightly against his chest as the door slowly swung shut, leaving him in the dim closet by himself.

He scowled.

"_Bugger_."

**present day**

So that was that. Draco set about the cheap hotel room, scrounging about idly for his shirt and pulling it up to his face for a moment to smell it before wrinkling his nose and pulling it over his head. He'd thought Potter would ignore him after that, never speak to him again - but then a week later, he'd been working the night shift at the hospital when Potter had appeared and pulled him into a supply closet and wanked him off.

And once again, he'd tried to get a word in afterward only to have Potter brusquely tell him he wanted nothing to do with him, that it was all a mistake - and then he'd Apparated away.

The third time, Draco had been sitting at the bar of a well-known Wizarding pub, fiddling with his drink and moodily trying to decide how much he wanted to get sloshed - when Potter had appeared at his elbow, muttered an invitation, and dragged Draco into the bathroom. They'd locked the door and Draco had casted a lube spell on his hand, sloppily excited- when Potter had given him a heady look and sunk to his knees, dragging Draco's pants down with him and giving him one of the best blowjobs of his life.

Now, Draco sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling it sink under his weight, and stared blankly off into space.

What the hell was wrong with Potter? More importantly, what was wrong with _him_? Potter had made it clear time and time again that it was wrong, that he wanted nothing to do with Draco - only to find him a week or two or three later and fuck him senseless. It was maddening, wondering how long it would be between each secret meeting, always waiting in the back of his mind for the owl from Potter telling him when and where.

Once Potter had even gone so far as to tell him why.

"It's as if... all this magic is just building up inside of me," he'd said one day as they both lay next to each other in a motel room similar to the one Draco was in right now. It was never the same place twice, though after a while they'd all started to blur together. "And - and I know it's going to eat away at me until I can't control it anymore and then I'm going to hurt someone just like I did that day in St. Mungo's. Doing this..." he'd gesture with his cigarette between them, exhaling a thin stream of smoke from between his lips, "keeps it under control."

They'd somehow fallen into a routine over time: Potter would owl Draco with a date and place; they'd meet at the arranged hotel room, having moved far beyond handjobs in a hospital; Potter would smoke a cigarette or two; Potter would leave.

Draco would admit that, when they went to the first hotel room, he'd been stupidly eager. Somehow it'd gotten in his head that this meant Potter was ready to take him more seriously, that Potter was ready to admit they had a relationship. He'd thought it meant he had leeway to drape his limbs around Potter after sex and fall asleep breathing in his heady sweat.

He had been terribly, terribly wrong. Foolish, really. Pathetic.

And now, sitting here with his mussed hair and the cigarette smoke still hanging in clouds around his head, he was still pathetic. More pathetic, actually, as it was six months since the start of their goddamn relationship and Potter was still using him and he was still loving every fucking second of it. What self-respecting Slytherin could ever admit to be used by a goddamn _Gryffindor_? Tossed aside at every opportunity for his precious Gryffindor wife and his precious Gryffindor friends.

He snorted to himself. If only his father could see him now - the lowest trainee at St. Mungo's; Harry Potter's little whore, available whenever Potter needed him; friendless and broke and miserable.

Draco Malfoy smiled bitterly to himself, picked up his wand, and finally Disapparated away without a second glance back.

* * *

_Five more hours,_ Draco told himself as he dropped into his seat with an exhausted groan, staring tiredly at the table his arm was resting on and wondering just how pitiful he would look if he simply laid his head down on it for the remainder of his break and took a nap. A thirty minute nap was really all he wanted. It hadn't occurred to him when Potter had owled him with, _Bayside Inn, eight o'clock pm_, that he would only have a couple hours of sleep after that before he had to leave for his midnight shift. Which lasted until ten o'clock the next morning, with only a brief thirty minute break around five AM for lunch. Or breakfast. Or whatever meal came at five in the bloody morning.

Ten hours of labor; two hours of sleep. One thirty minute break.

Yes, it had been a very long day, indeed.

He blinked and then forced himself to drag his eyes back open, each time growing harder and harder as he slowly inclined his head towards the table -

"...Did you hear me, Malfoy?" asked a voice curiously from his elbow and Draco jerked, banging his elbow roughly on the table and jumping out his seat as he turned, wand-out, to face the person behind him. Lavender Brown stared at him, not looking the slightest bit bothered by the wand in her face. "Malfoy? You all right?"

"Uh - yeah - shit," he said, rubbing his elbow awkwardly and feeling a pink flush creep up his neck. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to go get some coffee with me."

"With you?" he asked blankly, staring at her as he tried to process this request sluggishly.

She shrugged. "Well, not just me. Theo and Neville are coming too. Look, we've got to hurry, we only have twenty-five minutes left of our break. Are you coming or not?"

Draco felt a small frown tug at his lips. "Why are you asking me?"

She frowned back, though hers was much more impressive due to the scars running straight down the left side of her face and forcing one side of her mouth down. His eyes skirted the ugly red lines that disappeared down her neck and then he purposely met her eyes, trying not to flinch. He'd been so scared to go to the first Healer trainee meeting, hiding in the back and trying not to draw attention to himself - and then he'd look to his right and there she'd been, doing the exact same thing. Every time she'd shifted her head just the slightest amount, her hand would automatically move to her hair, flattening it against the side of her face in an attempt to hide the disfiguring scars - and he'd smiled a kind of twisted smile at the time, his right hand moving to cover his left arm, right where the Dark Mark rested underneath his robes.

Only, that had been eight months ago and now here she was in front of him, proudly wearing her hair pulled back in a ponytail while he was still wearing long sleeves.

It made him feel more alone than he had in a long, long time.

"I - Malfoy, you don't have to go if you don't want to," said Lavender impatiently, her left hand jerking up to her face and then stopping halfway as if she was purposely reminding herself that she didn't need to press her hair down. Her arm fell back to her side.

He thought of Potter's back facing him as soon as he woke up. He thought of Potter's eyes hardening at the mention of his wife. He thought of Potter leaving with just the smell of his fucking smoke left behind to remind Draco of what they'd done.

He thought of the aching loneliness he wore like a cloak most of the time, broken only when Blaise could find time for him or when his mother asked him to tea or when Goyle met him at the bar or when he received one of those damn notes telling him where to meet Potter.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay. I'll come."

It was called The Brewery, and it was, sweet Merlin, one of the shittiest looking buildings Draco had ever seen before in his life.

"Is this sanitary?" asked Draco.

"Is he going to be a prick about our favourite coffee shop?" asked Seamus, crossing his arms against his chest and glaring at Draco. "Tell him it's perfectly clean, Lavender."

"It's questionable," Lavender told him.

"Very questionable," nodded Neville. "One time I caught Seamus drop a bagel on the floor, pick it up, sniff it, and then put it back in the for sale basket."

"Disgusting," said Draco.

Seamus shrugged. "I sweep the floors. Sometimes. It was probably clean that day. Maybe. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that dirt is healthy for you."

Lavender made a face. "This is why I only drink the coffee here." She paused. "You do at least keep the coffee clean, don't you?"

"No promises," grinned Seamus.

Everyone had already ordered by the time Lavender and Draco had arrived, all tucked away in what was apparently their usual table. Seamus claimed to be on his break as well, working as one of the few employees of the Brewery (or the Brew, as everyone kept calling it), though it didn't seem as if it mattered much whether he was on his break or not because they were literally the only table occupied in the entire shop. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that it was currently five in the morning.

"What did you say you do at the hospital, Malfoy?" asked Neville after a pause, lifting his lemon tea up and sipping it delicately.

"I'm a trainee - but hopefully after this ends, I'll be able to get into the Potions Lab," and he tried not to sound too earnest about it but both his mother and Blaise and Goyle had heard his life plan so much that he never really got a chance any more to bring it up anymore, and if there was one thing Draco loved, it was discussing his many life plans surrounding his work. "I suppose my long term goal is to become the Potions Master for the pharmaceutical department, you know, supplying Potions to each individual department and -" he stopped, realizing he was talking too fast and leaning in too close to the other man. He sat back. "And, yeah. That's all. I'm a trainee."

"Neville's part of a company that helps supply the ingredients to the hospital," said Lavender, and a quick glance revealed she was trying not to smile too widely, looking a bit like a mother hen. "Green Thumbs and Co. He didn't even have to apply - they practically begged him to join, didn't they, Neville?"

Neville grinned. "You're making it sound better than it is, Lav. I'm still barely over minimum wage at this point."

"Bah," said Seamus, waving a hand with a disparaging expression. "Are we going to try and convince Neville that's he not complete pants at Herbology again? I _hate_ doing that."

"That would probably be because you're complete shit at making people feel better about themselves," said Nott smoothly from his corner, and Draco started slightly, having not heard Nott speak once since they entered. He'd honestly been wondering why Nott was along at all - but from Lavender's grin and Neville's snicker and Seamus's scowl, it appeared he'd been accepted into their little group a long time ago.

"That has nothing to do with it," said Seamus hotly, lifting his chin up.

Nott took a sip of his coffee. "Also, your Herbology skills are below your cooking skills, and that's saying something."

Seamus glared as Neville and Lavender laughed. "You weren't so bloody brilliant at it either, if I'm remembering the same Nott from school."

"You're probably not," said Nott, sounding bored. "Didn't you blow yourself up a thousand and one times? I hear that leads to memory loss."

"Herbology was all right," mused Lavender. "It was Charms that I really hated. Poor Flitwick; he was so glad to see me go."

"Potions for me," said Neville brightly. "As I'm sure you all know."

Nott snorted. "Oh we do, trust me."

"Blimey, Snape was mad," said Seamus, shaking his head. Draco stiffened slightly. "Brilliant at Potions, yeah, but mad as a hatter…"

"I liked him," he said stiffly. "He was my favourite professor."

There was a pause.

"Probably because you didn't blow up a cauldron once a week," said Neville, and though he was still smiling, his voice sounded a tad bit forced now. "I imagine I would have liked him too, had I actually been any good at the damn class."

He was trying. They were all trying - Merlin knew why - to include Draco, to forget the past, and he looked down into his pitch black coffee, staring into the depths and swallowing hard.

"Did you hear about Raskall?" asked Nott quietly.

Draco looked up, startled at this sudden change of subject and just who the hell was Raskall anyway - and then he realised Nott wasn't addressing him at all: he was talking to Seamus.

Neville smiled at him, obviously not interested in whoever this Raskall person was. "So what'd you do before you decided to become a Healer?"

Draco twisted his cardboard cup in between long, nervous fingers. "Travelled, mostly. Well - sort of." He took a deep breath and weren't people usually honest with their friends? He wondered if he was allowed to call these people his friends yet. It was, after all, the first time he'd had a real conversation with any of them since the war. "Uh - my... probation said I couldn't leave England for two years, so I mainly... stayed with my mother during that time, and then after that we went to France... Germany, Italy. A couple of other places." He shrugged awkwardly.

"I went to Germany once," volunteered Lavender, leaning an elbow on the table and looking at Draco with interest. "My mother wanted to take me to a face specialist to see if they could do anything about my scars."

"Oh. Er," Draco suddenly couldn't seem to look away from her all of a sudden, his eyes glued to the gruesome red lines streaking down her features. "And could they?"

She arched an eyebrow dryly. "Does it look like they did?"

He straightened and looked at her primly. "You look quite lovely, Lavender."

She snorted. "If you're trying to lie, you're doing a rotten job of it. And here I thought you were a Slytherin."

"It's not a lie," he frowned. "I think you look -"

"Oh, Merlin, are we trying to convince Lavender she's bloody gorgeous again?" broke in Seamus, who had somehow acquired a muffin whilst maintaining a conversation with Nott at the same time. "Bloody hell, that's about as easy as convincing Neville he's a genius with plants - which is ridiculous when you think about it because if Neville's bad with plants then what the fuck are the rest of us doing with our lives? What's next - telling Theo here that he isn't a complete prat? I'm telling ya, _fuck. _If me and Malfoy are the only sanes one at this fucking table then I _quit_."

They all stared at him after this impassioned speech, Lavender turning a flaming red, Neville looking as though he'd heard this far too many times, Nott looking almost amused.

Draco just felt included, and it was a rather nice feeling to have.

* * *

Everything inside of Draco tightened, and this was the moment he loved, this was the moment he craved, the very reason he continued this fucking affair with Potter - "More," he gasped, arching up into Potter and wrapping his legs tightly around firm hips. His body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his white-blond hair plastered to his face; he groaned loudly as Potter rocked into him faster, his arse clenching around Potter's cock as it pressed deeper into him.

"Yes, yes, please, Harry, please," and this was the only time he was allowed to call him by his first name - this was the only time that Potter became Harry, the only moment when Harry would lean in and capture his lips in a rough kiss, pausing his thrusts to kiss him long and slow and possessively. Draco's hands clutched Potter's face, dragging him down and moaning into his familiar taste, his hips shifting up minutely as he tried to capture the friction of earlier.

"Draco," said Harry huskily, breaking away and there - right there. The reason Draco took all the shit Potter gave him, the reason he came running whenever Potter called - "Draco," said Harry, and his eyes pierced Draco, staring directly into his eyes and whispering all the things that Draco longed to hear from his peers.

_I notice you._

_I see you._

_I want you._

He groaned, long and low, wishing he could stay locked with Harry like this forever, wishing he could be _seen_ by Harry always. It was here that the loneliness disappeared, if only for a little while. Connected to Harry in the most intimate way possible, dragging him deeper, kissing him heatedly - watching Harry watch him as he pushed in slowly and steadily - he felt whole and full and complete.

And he knew it was going to end and it made him want to rip his fucking heart out.

"Please," he whispered.

Harry took a deep breath, his hands sliding down Draco's sides until he was gripping Draco's hips firmly and he started thrusting again, harder and faster, just like Draco wanted. By now, it was all a well-rehearsed dance, with Harry leading and Draco following, both moving together with murmured encouragements and throaty groans and broken whimpers.

"Almost - there," panted Harry and their eyes locked and Draco spilled over with a cry, arching up into Harry as he came. He felt his arse clench, heard Harry curse loudly - and then felt him speed up in the frantic last few seconds that always came right before Harry's climax. Harry stiffened, holding himself above Draco, and everything seemed to pause for a moment, all time around them slowing as Harry looked down at Draco and Draco back up at him and then a single drop of sweat rolled off Harry's chest onto Draco's and the moment shattered.

"Bugger," groaned Potter, sliding out of Draco and dropping down heavily next to him. He fumbled for his wand on the nightstand and then cast a Cooling charm over them, sighing slightly as the cold air hit them. "I needed this. I really fucking needed it."

Draco raked a hand over his face, feeling the rough brush of stubble against his palm, and then stared hazily up at the ceiling. "Merlin."

"You ever get - I don't know, you ever feel as though the entire world is building up against you, like everything's against you, and so you put up all these walls to try and keep it from getting to you but sometimes your walls just seem so fucking _weak_?" The words spilled out of Potter, sounding loud and thoughtless as if he hadn't meant to say any of it. This was a rarity but one that sometimes occurred after particularly rough sex: a rambling Harry. It was only after a thorough shag that he would open up the slightest bit, that he would spill his wild ideas about the world with Draco.

Draco stared up at the ceiling some more. "Sometimes." He was the opposite: tired and slow after sex, unable to properly string his thoughts together. "What do you do when you feel that way?"

The bed dipped as Potter rolled over onto his stomach and stared over at Draco. "We fuck. And then I feel better."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Glad to be of service. The tip jar is by the door if you feel so inclined."

Potter frowned. "That's - not what I meant. I don't know." His eyes glazed over slightly. "Sometimes I just feel like everything I've done is a fucking mistake."

"That's ridiculous, Potter. The Dark Lord -"

"Oh, not that," amended Potter absently. "Obviously not that. I did what I had to do during the War, and I'm glad I did it. But after... after, I don't know. Everyone wanted something from me, you know? There were the Trials -" Draco frowned, "and everyone wanted to write an autobiography of my bloody life and Ginny -" He cut off.

Draco was silent for a long moment. "What do you regret the most?"

Potter lifted a hand and his pack of cigarettes flew wandlessly into his hand, caught by his Seeker's skills and lit using by his wand ("Show off," grumbled Draco). "Probably staying in England."

Draco lifted his eyebrows in wordless surprise and Potter, glancing sideways at him, caught it. He looked away again immediately, blowing out a gray cloud. "I wasn't ready for it. I spent a whole year in the fucking woods with Hermione and Ron as my only companions, you know? It was a shock, coming back to England after it all, and I didn't know what to do myself. So I threw myself into the Auror program, which is the second thing I regret the most."

"You shouldn't have been an Auror," said Draco, reverting his gaze back to the ceiling and tracing a watermark in one corner. A long silence and he craned his neck to look at Potter. "What?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Why do I say what?"

"Don't be daft, Malfoy; everyone expected me to become an Auror after the war ended. It was practically the only option I had -"

"_You_ don't be daft, you fucker," sneered Draco, and though he still felt too languid to be entirely angry, there was something blatantly derisive in his nature as he watched Potter smoke. "You were the _Chosen One_, the Golden Boy; any bloody door would have opened for you. You had the entire world laid out for you, and you gave in to what Mommy and Daddy Weasel wanted because you were too much of a twat at the time to decide for yourself. Pretending that becoming an Auror was your only option is - "

Potter abruptly dragged himself upright, stealing the sheets away from Draco as he let his legs hang over the side of the bed. "Don't talk like you knew me back then," he said lowly.

Draco pushed himself up, staring at the back of Potter's head. "Did _you _know yourself back then?

Silence.

"Well, Potter? Am I wrong?"

Further silence.

"Potter -" began Draco, but he'd gone too far.

"I did what I did back then because I'd just watched my friends fucking _die_," spat Potter, jerking up and whirling around to glare down at Draco. "I was left with a godson who had just been orphaned and what the hell did I know about taking care of a baby? I was left with a school that had been my home - and that was then broken because of _me_. So I thought, Harry, you need to fix them. You need to fix what destruction you caused. You need to catch the fucking people still on the loose who tortured and killed your friends. So I did. I did what I had to, something you will_ never_ understand."

Draco stared at him, feeling their connection slowly draining away, leaving a chill in the air. He suddenly wanted the sheets back over him but they were all currently tangled on the floor. "I've done plenty of things simply because I've had to, Potter. I went through the war just like you did."

"Not _just _like I did," sneered Potter. "Lost, didn't you?"

The gap between them opened further.

"Potter," began Draco and then looked down at his bare lap, feeling vulnerable and despising it. He drew his legs up, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring off into space. It was then that he realised just how much he wanted to tell Potter everything - how some of the Healers refused to work with him, how everyone looked straight past him as if he were an ugly blemish they were trying to ignore. He wanted to talk about the Brewery and about how much he wanted to work in the Potions lab. It felt like a timeless ache in his stomach, fueled by the distance between them and the angry words still hovering the air. Everything he wanted to say seemed caught in his throat along with _I'm sorry_ and _I didn't mean to say it like that._ He never had been too good at sharing his feelings, unfortunately. "You could have done whatever you wanted - and don't deny it either," he added, knowing without looking that Potter had opened his mouth in protest. "You could have been a journalist or a Healer or, hell, even a Potions Master and you're complete shit at Potions. But I couldn't. And so maybe I'm a bit..." He trailed off, pursing his lips.

There was a deadly quiet and Draco almost wondered if Potter had somehow already Disapparated without him noticing - but then the bed sunk with his weight and a tentative hand brushed his left foot.

"Malfoy," said Potter softly.

Draco remained frozen, stoic.

"Malfoy," tried Potter again. "I know it was hard for you -"

"Don't," said Draco, finally looking over. "It was hard for everyone. I don't want any fucking pity just because I couldn't get a job, okay? We both know I deserved it."

"You didn't," and it was the first time Potter had ever said something like that and something tightened in his stomach, a lot like when he was about to orgasm only nothing at all like that because Potter wasn't hot and sweaty and pushing into him - he was just sitting there and looking at Draco like Draco might matter and his hand was still pressed lightly against his foot.

Draco quickly looked away. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"No." Potter laid back down, dragging the sheets up with him. "Tell me again why you wanted to become a Healer."

This seemed like Potter's favourite question, asked again and again as though it were some fucking fairy tale Draco was telling to put him to sleep - yet somehow Draco couldn't find it within him to mind. "I didn't think they were going to accept me, at first. I mean - fuck, I applied six years after graduating, you know? Almost everything I learned at school was forgotten and what had I really known in the first place?"

Potter made a small noise then, as if he were smiling.

"Fuck you, I knew more than you did," and Draco was smiling too, down at his knees. He had really bony knees. "I imagine you have no idea what it was like to wait for that acceptance letter - I imagine it was actually a bit wearying to have so many places want you. Was it?"

"Hmm," said Potter.

"Blaise said I didn't need a job; I think that was his way of saying I wasn't going to get in. But somehow I got accepted. I - hell, I have no idea how, you know? I was... I mean, I didn't go to Azkaban, but I wasn't exactly clean either. I'm the last person they'd want. A Malfoy, a Slytherin, a complete failure. Yet I got in and found out about the Potions laboratory and now it's all I want to do. I think maybe Snape might have done it, in a different life." If Potter disagreed, he didn't say so. Draco thought of Snape often, thought of the choices he'd been forced into and the lies he'd kept hidden from everyone, even Draco. Especially Draco. "I just want to invent Potions. To help people."

"How much longer do you have left?"

This was another question they covered a lot. "The basic training lasts a year and then you move into your specific department, if you pass basic. Then you have to pass that training to be an official Healer. Two years total. I have four more months until the final basic training test." His voice was gloomy.

"You'll get in," said Potter and goddamn if he didn't sound absolutely positive about this.

"We'll see."

"You will."

"Okay."

"Stop patronizing me," growled Potter.

"Sure."

"Malfoy."

"Oh, I'm sorry - would you like to go back to being Harry the Helping Hufflepuff?"

"I hate it when you call me that."

"If you're wanting to give a pep talk, Harry the Helping Hufflepuff, better hurry up; clock's ticking."

Potter shoved him off the bed.

"Fuck!" said Draco from the floor. "Are you quite done being five years old?"

Potter's head popped over the side of the bed, a wicked grin on his face. "Yes. I think I would like to have wall sex now with you, Malfoy."

Draco grumbled, but, well, wall sex was wall sex even if it _was_ with an obnoxious Hufflepuff-like Gryffindor.

* * *

"You're different than I remember from Hogwarts," said Draco, and then he winced.

Lavender lifted her eyebrows in that dry way she had. "Being ravaged by a werewolf does that to someone, surprisingly. I used to be half a vegetarian, you know."

He shouldn't ask. It didn't matter. He shouldn't ask. "How can you be _half _a vegetarian?"

She shrugged delicately. "I only ate beef."

"You only ate beef?"

"I don't like fish."

"What about all the other meats? Dairy products?"

"Well - okay, I liked the idea of saving the lives of animals and whatnot," she said, breaking apart her chocolate chip muffin with lithe fingers and leaving a mass of crumbs on her plate. "But I liked steak too much to quit entirely."

"So now you're..."

"An eighth vegetarian, I suppose. I still don't like fish."

"Hmm."

"You seem different from Hogwarts too, you know," said Lavender. When he looked at her the right way, it was almost as if the scars weren't even there. Or - no, that wasn't right; it was as if the scars were just another interesting thing he had learned about Lavender Brown over the past three weeks, like her being an eighth of a vegetarian and the fact that she could coordinate colours better than anyone else he knew.

He tried to mock her dry expression. "Well, you know, being almost convicted of a life sentence in Azkaban does that to someone, surprisingly."

She snorted.

"Different how?" he asked, eyes flitting past her shoulder to where Nott stood at the counter and argued over something with Seamus. It was currently four in the morning and they were once again on a coffee break, but this time Neville had been unable to meet up with them. Probably because he was asleep like most of the normal people in the world.

It was the sixth time Draco had been invited and the sixth time he'd accepted.

"Different... I don't know. More confident, I suppose. You don't follow anyone around these days."

He scowled. "I didn't follow anyone around back then either."

"Didn't you?"

He glared into his pitch black coffee, wanting to pick it up and throw it all over something but by now it was only lukewarm and throwing lukewarm coffee around just seemed childish. "No. I didn't. _Potter _followed _me_ around."

She seemed both amused by this and completely unsurprised, which was strange considering he'd only thought that Potter's close friends and himself had known about the following. "Bet you liked that."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Why would I like that?"

"Because it meant you were important enough to be followed," she said, shrugging and drinking more of her milk-and-three-sugars-please coffee. "I don't know. You didn't like it?"

His coffee tasted bitter and not hot enough. "I didn't like much of anything in Sixth Year, really."

"I did," Lavender sighed. "I liked Ronald Weasley. Too much, really. And I liked reading Witch Weekly and answering quizzes about myself and staring in the mirror and putting on make-up. I liked flirting with Ravenclaw boys and doing other people's hair and pretending I knew how to predict the future and buying expensive clothes. I had twenty-six pairs of shoes at Hogwarts that year."

"I really think that might be too many shoes, Lavender - and I'm best friends with Blaise. Who is a man. Who owns fifteen different pairs of Oxfords in different colours."

"Mmm," she said. "But that was just at Hogwarts. I had another fourteen pairs at home."

They stared at each other for a moment and then Lavender grinned. "Now I have fifty-six total."

He swore loudly.

"Still think I'm different from Hogwarts?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. You don't wear make-up any more."

The grin disappeared and he regretted his word choice. "You're right. At first I used to cake it on, you know? All the time, I'd be covered in make-up, trying to hide the scars. You could still see them, though - they're raised up, you know. Want to feel?"

"Yes." And he hadn't until she'd asked but suddenly it was like this sick desire had been lurking underneath all the time and she took his hand and put it to the left side of her face, molding his hand to her cheek and letting him cup her face for a moment. And the scars _were_ raised.

They sat like that for a moment, Lavender patiently watching him and Draco touching the soft skin of her cheek and the rough skin of her scars until finally she shifted and he pulled his hand back.

"The make-up only made it more noticeable," she said. "So I quit."

"You look beautiful, Lavender, no matter what you do."

She rolled her eyes, grinned a small grin, took another sip of coffee. "Shut it, Malfoy. I'm tired of talking about me. Got any plans for tonight?"

Draco thought of the letter he'd just gotten telling him _Red Flag Inn, ten o'clock, _even though it had only been six days since the last time they'd met. Usually Potter tried to hold out for as long as he could, tried to pretend he wasn't a sick fuck for as long as possible before giving in and asking Draco to meet him. He wondered if it was a bad thing or good thing that Potter wanted to meet with him more frequently. A hard smile crossed his face. "I'm going on a date."

"A date?" asked Lavender, and she looked at him slyly, an expression that was incredibly nerve-wracking

with her scars. "With who?"

"He -" Draco coughed. "I can't say."

She looked intrigued. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong with him," frowned Draco. "I just can't say."

"Something must be wrong with him."

"I - well," he thought of how Potter never wanted to be wanted to seen with him in public, always in a different hotel room, always under cover. He thought of how Potter had lost control in the hallway so long ago. And Draco looked at Lavender and he saw someone who met his eyes straight on, as if he were their equal. "He's married."

"_Married_?" she whistled lowly. "Do I know him? No - wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know. How did this start?"

"He... said he needed to relieve stress."

Lavender frowned, the scars on her left side deepening slightly with the movement. "How long has this been going on?"

"Around seven months."

"And - what? He still tells you he's going to leave his wife for you but hasn't gotten around to it yet?"

Draco looked astonished. "Leave his wife? Merlin, he's never said he would do anything of the sort."

Silence.

"Why?" asked Draco doubtfully. "Should he have said something like that by now? I mean - I'm just fucking around too. It's nothing serious. It's just shagging." Maybe if he said it enough, the uneasy look on her face would disappear. Maybe the clenching in his stomach would disappear as well.

"If it's not serious..." she shrugged, toying with her coffee. "But what do I know? It just sounds like you're not too sure of yourself."

"I _am_," he said defensively.

"Are you sure of _him_?"

He frowned deeply.

"Look - Malfoy -" and then she stopped herself and pushed her plate away, leaning in and saying earnestly, "Draco. I'm just saying that it sounds like you need to take back the power in this relationship. He's married - and what do you have? A shitty boyfriend that won't even pretend to commit? You deserve more, you know. You should refuse him more and make him realise that you're not going to be around forever."

Draco stared at her, wondering who the last person to call him Draco had been. Blaise, maybe. His mother, who didn't count. Potter, when he was fucking him. Who else? He strained his memory, trying to remember, and felt hollow, as if her words had alerted him to the giant hole carved in his chest. "Why did you ask me to come get coffee with you that day?"

Lavender looked startled by the change in subject. "What day?"

"The first day you asked me to come here," he persisted. "Why did you ask me? We hadn't talked before then at all."

"You - you looked," she stopped.

"Tell me."

"You looked like I look sometimes," she said quietly. "When I'm looking in the mirror and all I see are the scars. You looked as though all you saw were your scars when you looked in the mirror. And you just looked really, really tired. Like maybe you needed some coffee."

Draco swallowed tightly, lifting his coffee to his lips and struggling to drink it down. "Thank you," he said after a long moment and she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. "And - thank you for the advice."

"You're not too bad, Malfoy, you know that?"

"Call me Draco."

"All right, Draco."

"Well, while you two pansies were over here discussing shoes and hair products," said Seamus loudly, plopping down next to Lavender with an excited look about him as Nott sat down easily next to Draco, "Nott and I here were experimenting and - tell 'em, Nott, tell 'em!"

"We call it the Breath Muffin!" said Nott excitedly and how was it possible that someone as stoic and unfazed by life as Theodore Nott could possibly be this exciting about making a muffin with Seamus Finnigan? It seemed entirely unnatural. "Here, Malfoy."

Draco stared at the plate set before him with the perfectly shaped muffin sitting innocently on it. "Um. What is it?"

"Don't eat it," advised Lavender as she drank her coffee. "They think they're going to make the next Chocolate Chip Muffin or something. I refuse to be their taste-tester anymore."

"Anymore? What happened?"

"They gave me a muffin that had glass in it."

"It wasn't glass," said Seamus hotly, looking indignant. "It was -"

"A very hard piece of sugar," finished Nott, scowling. "That's all it was."

"It was a piece of glass," Lavender told Draco. "And Neville refuses to try their muffins anymore because -"

"It doesn't matter why," interjected Seamus quickly, looking flustered.

"Because they almost killed him," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well he didn't tell _us _he was allergic to cinnamon," said Nott, sinking down lower next to Draco and scowling harder. "How the hell were _we_ supposed to know? Besides, we're all Healers - we saved him, didn't we?"

"Finnigan isn't a Healer," pointed out Draco.

"True," said Nott. "He just sort of ran around the shop screaming for help. Hard to believe you survived the war sometimes," he said to Seamus, lifting his eyebrows.

"I relied mainly on my good looks and charm, if I'm perfectly honest. Plus, the Irish are very lucky."

"They are?" frowned Lavender. "I've never heard that. If you're so lucky, how come you're working in a coffee shop at this age?"

"_Anyway,_" said Seamus, reaching across the table to push the plate closer to Draco. He grinned. "Look, this one's really good, I promise - and there's no glass in it. At all. I think."

"Hopefully you're not allergic to anything in it," added Nott.

"What's in there?" asked Draco again, looking down at the muffin with doubt.

"We can't tell you that." Seamus was practically bouncing in his seat he was so excited; it was far too early in the bloody morning for this kind of thing. "It's a secret."

"Don't do it," said Lavender again.

He took a deep breath, lifted the muffin up, stared at it for a second, pondered his life choices for a moment, and then finally nibbled a bite tentatively off the side and forcibly swallowed it.

"Well?" asked Seamus eagerly.

"Um." He couldn't seem to get rid of the taste in his mouth. Blanching, he reached for his now-completley-cold coffee and gulped it down, dropping the muffin back down on the plate. "What the hell _was_ that?"

Nott glared. "It tastes good. Doesn't it taste good?" he demanded, turning towards Seamus.

"I - well, actually, I haven't really tried it yet. Did _you_?"

"... No."

"Oh dear _fuck,_ I just ate something that even Finnigan and Nott won't try, oh, it tastes like _shit,_" and he reached across the table, snatching Lavender's cup out of her hand and drinking it down as fast as he could.

"I did warn you," she said, looking amused. "What's it taste like?"

"It's called a Breath Muffin," said Nott mournfully.

"It's supposed to allow you to eat breakfast and still have good breath afterward," said Seamus, looking just as put out.

"How'd you managed that one?" Lavender delicately picked up a piece of her torn apart muffin and ate it.

"We put a tube of toothpaste in the batter."

"God_damn _that's disgusting!" said Draco and hell if he was ever going to be their fucking taste tester again. "Go make me more coffee."

"Can't!" said Seamus brightly. "Aren't you guys going to be late for work soon?"

"Fuck you and your stupid goddamn muffins too."

* * *

_Potter,_

_I can't meet you tonight. I have plans. Sorry for not letting you know earlier, I was at work._

_Maybe some other time,_

_DM_

_Dear Malfoy,_

_What do you mean you can't? What sort of plans? We can do it later than midnight if you need to._

_HP_

_Dear Potter,_

_The sort of plans that I can't skip out on. Today's just not a good day. I need to catch up on sleep, as well._

_Malfoy_

_What about tomorrow?_

_HP_

_Tomorrow's bad too. I'll just let you know when the next time I'm free is._

_DM_

* * *

The Brewery was, for one thing, a lot more popular when it wasn't four o'clock in the morning.

For another, it was addictive as all hell.

Also, Luna Lovegood worked the day shift.

"Seriously?" he asked, staring at her after waiting his eighteen minutes in line. "Do they only hire Gryffindors here or is it just -" he shut his mouth, realizing he had been about to say _insane people _and suddenly he remembered just how long this particular girl had spent in his basement.

And how she had made him a friendship bracelet from a piece of string from her shirt and two rocks with holes in them and how she was currently meeting his eyes with her strange, curious gaze as though he's never been more important.

She smiled. "Hello, Dragon," she said in her dreamy voice. "Would you like a Mountain Breeze Muffin?"

After his escapade with the Breath Muffin, more than two weeks ago now, Draco hadn't really been in the mood to try any new flavours. "Er, no. Coffee, black, a shot of espresso, please."

"3 sickles, 8 knuts please," said Luna, her hand drifting out towards him almost as though she just happened to be gesturing in his direction.

He blinked at her. "Er. That's... more than usual."

"Yes," she replied.

"Um... why?"

"The hat is extra, of course."

"I didn't order a hat," he said, bewildered.

For the first time, she frowned and he immediately felt abashed, as though he had committed a terrible crime. "The hats are excellent."

He panicked. "Um - okay, yeah, I'll take the hat then, yeah."

"3 sickles, 12 knuts."

"But - wait, you just said -"

"Now you've ordered two hats," said Luna, and then she smiled. "One for me, I'm assuming? You're very kind."

"Er... right." He handed the money over, feeling completely confused and all he wanted was his damn coffee and then suddenly she was handing him a bright yellow party hat that had _'Brew Up Happiness!' _written in large pink letters on the side. "Umm... thanks."

"I'll bring your coffee out to you when it's done," she said dreamily.

He started to turn but before he could even get a few steps away her voice floated out behind him like a light wind, "Draco? Are you not going to wear the hat?"

And that's how Draco Malfoy found himself wearing a fucking yellow party hat with the words '_Brew Up Happiness!_' written across them in large pink letters.

The usual table he sat at during his work breaks was occupied - and too far out into the open anyway, now that he was alone, and so Draco walked into the very far corner, sliding into a booth and idly tapping out a pattern with long, pale fingers as he waited. His eyes drifted over all the people milling about with coffee and muffins and doughnuts and bagels in their hands and felt a slight flare of jealousy in his chest that these people got to enjoy the same place he'd grown so attached to.

Humming slightly, his eyes drifted over to the counter where Lovegood was nowhere to be seen and resigned himself to a long wait.

"...happened again, and I just don't know what to do about. Have you tried talking to Harry about it?"

Draco stiffened, his back going straight as he realised that the voice was coming from the booth behind his - and that he recognised the voice as Granger's. Fucking hell, did _everyone_ know about this place?

"Of course I've tried talking to him," came an exasperated voice and Draco froze again, realising with mild horror that it was none other than Hermione Granger and Ginny Potter in the booth behind him, both their voices perfectly clear. "You think he'd ever admit he has a problem? He works so much these days, Hermione, it's like I never see him."

It had been three weeks since he'd turned Potter down for the first time and three weeks since he'd last spoken to him. The idea of owling Potter and asking to meet up sounded both terrifying and revolting at this moment because what if Potter owled him back and told him he was no longer interested? He'd been wondering what Potter had been doing without him and apparently there was his answer - working. Not that Potter hadn't been a complete workaholic before their intermission either, but.

"But - but, Ginny, it's been so long since he had an... attack," and Draco strained his ears, noting that Granger had lowered her voice. He wanted to yell at them for being stupid enough not to use a Muffling Charm while at the same time wanting to yell at them for not speaking up. "I thought he was getting over it."

"Hermione," sighed Ginny. Draco didn't think he'd ever heard a more exhausted woman in his life. He wondered what she sounded like sighing Potter's name. "You can't just get over PTSD. You know this. You've done more research on it than anyone else I know."

"I know," said Hermione in a small voice. "I was just... hoping."

"We all were."

Potter had lost control again? Because he... hadn't seen Draco? Was there any correlation at all that the last attack Potter had had was before they'd begun seeing each other and now - this? Fuck.

Was it his fault? Was it his fault for telling Potter he couldn't see him - for not owling him back? Maybe that had been Potter's snapping point, maybe Potter felt as though Draco was leaving him and Draco _wasn't,_ he just wanted to prove a point -

"At least it didn't happen in public this time." Granger rather sounded like she was trying to convince herself of something at this point. "Have you replaced the door yet?"

"He did, the very same day. I think he's embarrassed."

Suddenly Draco saw red. What the fuck did they think they were doing talking about him behind his back in a fucking _coffee shop_ of all places? Did they think they were helping him? And he felt possessive, his stomach clenching hard as he realised he wanted nothing more than to go find Potter and demand to know exactly what had happened. _His_ Potter had been hurt?

"Here's your coffee, Dra-"

"SHHH," said Draco and grabbed Luna's arm, dragging her into the spot next to him. They huddled in the booth and Draco placed his ear against the wood of the seat, trying to hear.

"... says that if we just find the trigger then we can prevent another attack from coming on."

"We can't just lock him in a room until we figure out what it is though," said Ginny, sounding frustrated now. "It could be literally anything, right? And - I think Robards is asking Harry to consider taking a leave of absence if something doesn't change. I think he wants Harry to get professional help and... and Harry would never even consider something like that."

There was silence and Draco pressed himself flat against the back of the booth and Luna sat there quietly, looking as though she'd done this a million and one times.

Professional help? What the hell would that give Potter that Draco couldn't? And he hated that he cared so fucking much and he hated that Potter didn't just _tell him_ these things. Why did he have to learn about this shit through spying in a coffee shop? It wasn't fair; it wasn't fair that these two twits knew about it right away and Draco didn't when Draco was the one that saw him and that cigarette, when Draco was the one that held Potter during his most vulnerable moments. It wasn't _fair._

Hermione finally made a quiet noise. "I want to talk about this more, but I think we should go, Ginny. Ron asked me to watch over Rosie this afternoon and it's already been late enough..."

There was soft shuffling as they gathered their purses, presumably, and then Draco ducked down next to Luna and embarrassingly hid behind her as they left.

After a moment, she spoke up. "Were we spying?"

"Er..."

"Because I've told Seamus that there are Winkerspats in the wood and he's never believed me. It's very nice to have someone that knows what to listen for. You heard them, right?"

He felt ashamed. "Right. Winkerspats." _Not the wife of the man I'm having an affair with, no, of course not, that would be silly._

"Here is your coffee, Draco," she said, and somehow she'd managed to keep the drink from spilling, even when he'd jerked her into the booth with him. She handed it to him now, and goddamn if the cup didn't have a little hat on it as well; he just now noticed that Luna had hers cocked at an angle on her head. "I'm going to make some customers upset if I don't get back to work now, but it's been very lovely catching up with you again."

Draco forced a smile. "Yes. Nice to see you too."

She stood up and had only taken a step or two when she turned back around and called, "And Draco? Winkerspats cause quite a lot of doubt, so if you've been about to make a decision, just ignore your fear. It's only Winkerspats, after all. Doubt is very easily fixed, when you know where your confidence is hiding."

He blinked and then smiled.

* * *

Getting into Potter's office was really, embarrassingly simple.

"I have information concerning one of Auror Potter's cases," said Draco coolly to the young man at the reception desk. "If you'll let me pass, please, this is rather urgent." With his lime green Healer robes and narrowed eyes, the other man quailed.

"Um... sir, Auror Potter didn't mention anything about -"

"And you think you're important enough to know about a case of this much severity?" sneered Draco, pulling himself upright and glaring down his nose. It had been a long time since he'd worn this expression but it came easily, like riding a broom. "It's a case of the _utmost security_, I assure you. You can ask him if I'm authorised back there, but I highly doubt he would appreciate not having this information at once. Security Class A." He had heard Potter mention offhandedly once that that was the highest level of clearance and wondered just how much trouble he would get in if he was discovered.

The young man shrunk back further and pretended to shuffle through some papers. "Erm - okay, uh, Mr. Malfoy, just... go on back then, I guess."

"Thank you," said Draco, scowling once more for the effect before sweeping past the reception area and back into where he knew Potter's private office was located. He supposed there had to be some perks with being the Boy Who Lived and having an office this big was one of them - and for once, he couldn't seem to find it within him to feel jealous as he pushed the door open and then shut it behind him.

After all, it was about to come very handy.

"I'm busy right now, don't let in anyone in, Clifford," said Potter absently, bent over his desk as he scratched something out with an Eagle Feather Quill.

"Too late," said Draco, smirking, and Merlin, there was nothing better in the world at that moment then Potter looking up with a flash of surprise and instantaneous want.

He jerked to his feet. "Malfoy? How - how did you get in here?"

Draco arched his eyebrows, slowly walking towards Potter as he watched the other man grow more and more flustered. "Does it matter?"

"I - yes," said Potter, backing up a step and then stopping as he ran into his chair. "Because if there's a break in security, I'd really like to know, for my own safety -"

"But you don't care about your safety, do you?" asked Draco in a soft voice, stopping at the edge of the desk and looking at Potter with dark eyes. Everything seemed to have slowed around them, the only quick thing in the room being Draco's fluttering heart. "You've compromised your own safety more than any person I've ever met, you complete fucktard."

Potter stared at him with wide eyes, looking high and mighty in his dark red Auror robes and ruffled black hair. There was scruff on his chin and dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders held tight as if he'd been stressed for a very long time. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Draco smiled, a pretty smile with innocent eyes and pink lips. "I came to give you a present, Potter." He moved forwards again, each step slow and purposeful and then finally he was around the desk and his hands were on Potter's shoulders, pushing him down into his desk chair. Draco felt a thrill of power rush through him at Potter's dumbfounded compliance, wondering if this was what Potter felt like every time he ordered Draco to get on the bed. Those filthy fucking motel room beds with the springs that always pressed into his back. The smile grew.

"I'm going to suck you off," said Draco, leaning in until his lips brushed the outer shell of Potter's ear lightly. He felt the Auror shudder lightly. "I'm going to suck you off right here at your desk that you do your paperwork on, right here in your office so that you'll always think of me when you're sitting in here doing work."

"Malfoy," said Potter, and Draco's name had never sounded more like a plea.

Draco slowly sank to his knees, pushing Potter's robes open and feeling his mouth water slightly at the obvious bulge in Potter's trousers. He made quick work of the zipper, unsnapping Potter's trousers and then pulling them roughly down, jerking them down to Potter's thighs. Potter groaned.

Draco leaned in, inhaling Potter's arousal as he pressed his lips against Potter's cock through the thin fabric of his pants and then smiling darkly as he felt Potter's cock twitch against his mouth. _That's right,_ he thought. _You can lose control with me. You can lose all the fucking control you want._

He gripped the sides of the pants, tugging on them and gesturing for Potter to lift up slightly so that he could pull them down, and then -

Someone knocked on the door.

"Shit," whispered Potter and suddenly Draco found himself underneath Potter's desk with Potter's cock still hanging out of his trousers - and he waited for Potter to tell the person to go the fuck away but then suddenly Potter's smooth, commanding voice was saying, "Come in," and Draco felt something shoot straight down his stomach into his cock.

Potter wanted someone else in the room. With Draco underneath his desk, sucking him off.

Holy shit.

Draco shifted up, sliding his hands up Potter's thighs and tugging to pull both his trousers and pants down until Potter could slide his legs open more - which he did, immediately. Draco felt a smirk curl up his lips. _Eager, Potter?_ He heard voices above his head and waited until it was Potter's turn to talk again before leaning in and licking a thorough stripe up the side of his erection.

Potter's legs locked into place around him and he tried not to laugh at the reaction, knowing that Potter must be having difficulties speaking - and grinned to himself as he wrapped a firm hand around the base of Potter's cock and leaned in, taking as much as he could into his mouth. He felt Potter shifting slightly, his cock just barely thrusting into Draco's mouth, and Draco bobbed his head, relaxing his throat and suppressing his gag reaction as he sucked.

He felt Potter shift slightly and then a hand was in his hair, gripping hard and urging Draco faster - which Draco did happily, hollowing his cheeks and sucking harder as he slid Potter's cock in and out of his mouth. He thought about how filthy this all was, blowing Potter while Potter was talking to someone above the desk - and groaned slightly around Potter's cock, unable to help himself.

Conversation faltered above and Potter's hand tightened in his hair, a warning.

Draco froze, kneeling between Potter's knees with his mouth still wrapped around Potter's cock, wondering if maybe that was Potter's cue for Draco to back off.

Except then Potter's fingers were tightening in his hair and slowly, so slowly, guiding his head back and forth on his cock and Draco licked and sucked and ran his fingers down to cup Potter's balls, his own cock straining against his pants the entire time. He heard the chair squeak slightly as Potter lifted his hips up into Draco's mouth, pressing against the inside of Draco's cheek and then changing angles so that he could press his cock down deep into Draco's throat.

They stayed like that for as long as Draco could manage, breathing through his nose and gripping Potter's thighs tightly as his throat convulsed around Potter's erection - and then he jerked off, gasping slightly and hearing Potter's voice grow louder to hide his heavy breathing.

Tentative fingers stroked down Draco's face, trickling over his skin and then reaching up to comb through his hair in a gentle, comforting way. It was an apology for going too far, it was a loving gesture that said _You've given me so much and I love you for it. _Draco felt himself lean into that touch like a cat, closing his eyes and memorizing the feel of warm fingers caressing him.

It was only a second later when he opened his eyes and leaned back in, taking the head of Potter's cock into his mouth and sucking lightly, swirling his tongue against the slit and tasting warm pre-come. He felt a thrill of something in his chest - something that whispered he was the one doing this to Potter, he was the one getting this reaction from him, not _(Ginny) _anyone else - and he took in more of Potter, greedily sucking.

Finally, the door shut again and Potter said, "Stop, stop, _fuck_, I'm about to come," and Draco pulled off, wiping his mouth and saying, "That's kind of the point."

"I - no, get out," said Potter and Draco was pulled roughly to his feet, meeting Potter's glazed and pupil-blown eyes with confusion. "From the desk, I mean," he said fervently. "Not the room. I want - I want -"

"What do you want?" murmured Draco, his hand moving forward to wrap slowly around Potter's dick. He fisted him slowly, using his own spit as lube.

Potter choked. "I want to fuck you on my desk. Right here."

Draco hissed. "Yes."

A Silencing and Locking spell later and then Potter turned back to him, expression filled with want as he pulled Draco to him and kissed him hard, his lips claiming Draco and his hips doing a lazy roll against Draco's. "On the desk," murmured Potter as he pulled away. "Naked."

Draco felt his fingers trembled as he yanked off his robes and then Potter was yanking at his trousers and hurriedly pulling them down and bending Draco over the desk despite the fact that he was still wearing his shirt so that Draco was, fuck, Draco was right on top of all Potter's precious paperwork.

"Just like that," muttered Potter. "Yes, just like that - _accio_ lube."

Draco heard the sound of a bottle smacking into skin and then it was clicking open - and he gasped as a finger prodded at his hole, slick with lube as it pressed against his hole for a moment before sliding between his cheeks.

"Yes," said Potter, pressing his cock up against Draco's thigh and rocking slightly. "I want to come inside you so badly."

"More," whimpered Draco, shifting against that one intruding finger. "I've been waiting for this for so long -"

"So have I," said Potter breathlessly and the finger was gone, both of them eager to move on in the familiar dance they had perfected over the months. "I - I thought you might be done with me -"

"Never," said Draco, his hips moving back to meet Potter's hand. "I could never be done with you, Harry."

"All I want is you," said Harry, a moment passing by as Harry lubed himself up and then suddenly something much thicker and blunter was nudging Draco's hole open. "All I need is you, here for me, just like this. God, you're so tight."

"I need," whimpered Draco, "I need -" he gasped, arching up into Harry as the tip of Harry's cock pushed in. "Yes, there, yes. Please, I need you in me."

"It's been too long," said Harry. "I didn't think of anyone but you the entire time."

It was all Draco wanted to hear but then it was always like this - Harry calling out Draco's name, Harry telling him he needed him, Harry telling him he wanted him - but only when Draco was like this. Only when Draco was spread out for him like a wanton whore. As soon as it was over, so was Harry's babbling confessions. It was like a drug, an addictive drug slowly poisoning Draco's system, but Merlin it felt so damn good - and he didn't know what he needed more, Harry's voice whispering sweet things to him or Harry's cock slowly pushing into his body. He grunted at the slight burn and then pushed back sharply, loving Harry's groan as he sank deep into Draco.

"So tight," whispered Harry, his fingers skimming Draco's back, pushing up the shirt he was still wearing and skittering across his skin like kisses. "Just for me. All mine."

"All yours," said Draco, feeling the desk cutting into his thighs and not giving a single shit about it. "Move. Move, Harry, please."

Harry moved. Thick grunts filled the air as Harry thrust into him, shallowly at first and then deeper as he found his rhythm, his cock sinking into Draco and then back out again, harder with each thrust. It was so fucking easy to lose himself in this feeling, in this motion - crying out as Harry found his spot again and change his angle, hitting it with each thrust.

"Right here on your desk," gasped Draco, drowning in the sensations soaring through his veins. "So you'll think of me when you're here."

"I always think of you. Always," Harry panted, his hands reaching up to grip Draco's waist as he pushed into him. "Fuck, I'm getting close." With each thrust he pushed Draco harder into the desk and Draco practically humped the wood, unable to reach his own cock as he held himself up with both hands. "Draco - Draco," and then he felt hot seed shooting up in him and Draco came with a hoarse shout, covering the side of Potter's desk in his spunk.

"Draco, I need you," whispered Harry against the back of his neck, pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss there as he slowly rocked into Draco, his orgasm dying back down. "I thought you didn't want me -" he stopped and pulled out of Draco.

There was a soft silence surrounding them, enveloping them, and Draco turned around, pulling Harry to him and kissing him slowly and warmly. He knew their connection was leaving, he knew Harry would change back to Potter soon - and he tried to hold onto it for as long as he could, his hands holding Harry's face close as they kissed. His blood felt hot in his veins and his skin felt chilled without his pants on but still he kissed the Gryffindor, his tongue sweeping through Harry's mouth in a languid movement.

Harry finally broke away, breathing heavily and resting his forehead against Draco's. His hands were on Draco's waist, just underneath his shirt, and his thumb was slowly stroking a patch of skin there. "I can't - without you -"

"I know," said Draco quietly.

Harry pulled away abruptly, looking at him with dark eyes. "Do you?"

"I... overheard. Granger and your -" he couldn't say it. Instead, he shook his head, pressing his lips together. "What happened?"

Potter looked uncomfortable. "I need a fag."

He moved, gathering his clothes and pulling them back on before opening one of the desk drawers and withdrawing a pack. It was a familiar movement, reassuring to Draco yet dooming at the same moment because when the cigarette ended, so would their moment together. That's all this relationship was: a short flare, a hell of a lot of smoke, a deathstick that would flicker out with nothing left but ashes to show for it.

"What happened?" repeated Draco.

Potter inhaled on his cigarette and then blew it out, the smoke fanning out behind him and quickly dissipating. "I don't know. Same as all the other times. I was at home - with - Ginny," he flinched, "and she was just listening to the radio and she said something about George and it's like... I couldn't even control myself. I just flew into this rage and... I don't really want to talk about it," he said, taking another drag.

Draco had pulled his trousers back on while he was listening and now he sat down on Potter's desk, heedless of the papers he was crushing and instead just stared at Potter with his solemn gaze. "You have to talk about it at some point," he said. "You can't just bottle it up all the time. I know you think you're helping others by keeping it in but really you're just being a giant pain in the arse."

Potter stared at him, cigarette forgotten for a moment. "You think I'm a pain in the arse?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "A huge one. Full of yourself, too."

"How do you figure that one out?"

Now Draco's gaze narrowed. "Come on, Potter, really? You think you were the only one affected by the war?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," said Potter and turned away.

"There you go again," said the other. "Doing it again."

"Doing _what_?" snapped Potter, whirling back around and running agitated hands through his hair. The cigarette had fallen to the floor, ignored. "I don't know what else to _do,_ Draco! I feel like such a complete fuck-up, and you think it helps me to look at you and see you looking like - like -" he gestured wildly.

"Like what?" asked Draco coldly.

"Like I just _fucked_ you," sneered Potter.

"So that's all I am to you? First you use me and then you can't stand the sight of me because I'm just a reminder of all the things you've done wrong."

"I'm not using you."

"You are, though," said Draco lowly, standing up and taking a step towards Potter. "You fuck me just because you can't cope otherwise, because you're too much of a pussy to try and fix your problems any other way."

"Stop it, Malfoy."

"Make me." Draco had reached him now and he pushed him, using his two-inch-height-advantage as he scowled at him. "What are you going to do when I'm actually through with you, Potter? How are you going to fucking control yourself then?"

"You're not going to leave me," said Potter through gritted teeth, standing his ground but not lifting his hands an inch. Instead, he simply lifted his chin, looking at Draco defiantly.

"Are you joking?" Draco laughed bitterly, eyes hard. "I left a long time ago."

And he picked up his lime green robes and walked out, forcing himself not to glance back.

* * *

"So then... I left," finished Draco six days later, staring down into his pitch black coffee and feeling sick at the sight of it. Or maybe he was feeling sick over finally telling someone about what had happened between him and Potter. He glanced up, startled to find Blaise and Lavender and Seamus and Neville and Nott all staring at him. "What?"

"Good for you, Malfoy," said Seamus after a moment. "Good for you."

"I think you did the right thing, Draco," said Neville quietly. He took a sip of his customary lemon tea. "It'll get easier with time - or, so they say."

"Cheers," said Nott, lifting his mug towards Draco.

"What an asshole," commented Lavender. He felt a slight smile curl up one side of his mouth and wondered what they would all say if they knew the man he was speaking of was their precious hero. "He didn't deserve you."

"And he has horrible taste," commented Blaise lightly. "Good riddance, I say. No one should be allowed to own that many pairs of brown trousers."

"Thank you, Blaise," said Draco. "No, really, you know just what to say to a bloke going through a break-up. Ever considered writing motivational speeches?"

"Mmm, I have," said Blaise, "but then that would require trying to _motivate_ and that firmly goes against my Slytherin Code of Honour." He paused with an excited look towards the three Gryffindors in the group as if waiting for them to break into song about how evil Slytherins were and looked completely defeated when they only smiled at him. Nott rolled his eyes.

"So you knew - er, what was his name again?" asked Seamus, reaching up to scratch the side of head and then leaning forward and resting his elbow on the table.

"His name is David Phillips," said Draco gloomily.

"Ah, David," said Blaise brightly. "David, David. Yes, I knew him, and, like I said, horrid taste in clothes. Of course, he chose Draco here, so his taste in men couldn't have been too bad. None of you met him?" And then he paused, looking highly amused, and Draco kicked him under the table.

"No," said Lavender, and thank God for Gryffindors because they all looked completely oblivious. Nott just looked bored. She added hastily, "And we wouldn't want to, would we, Neville?"

"Definitely not."

Draco attempted a weak smile. They were all sitting in the Brewery and it was currently five fifty-six in the morning. Seamus was, of course, working the night shift; Neville was apparently getting his breakfast before heading off to work; Blaise had simply gotten into the habit of following Draco around since his blow-out with Potter. How he'd even figured out where Draco was going for his break was an utter mystery - he had simply shown up five minutes after everyone else and had pouted for a full minute about not being invited to the "party."

Draco sat there with his bitter coffee and his - well, they were all his friends, weren't they? It had been nearly two months since Lavender had first invited him to the Brewery and now here they all were, listening to him explain his horrible love life and they were all nodding along, looking sympathetic and bashing David Phillips.

It was almost enough to make him feel better about the whole Potter thing.

"You know what you need, Malfoy?" asked Seamus after a moment, abruptly sitting up straight and looking excited.

"New shoes," said Blaise immediately.

Seamus looked confused. "What - no -"

"Better choices in his love life," offered Lavender and Seamus frowned.

"I wasn't -"

"Oh, I know! To become a Healer," said Neville.

"_Stop_ -"

"To become our fucking taste tester again," said Nott a tad bit sullenly.

Seamus paused. "Well, okay, yes - but what I was going to say is, Malfoy needs to play a game of Quidditch."

They all stared at Seamus rather blankly until Draco said, "That's _brilliant_."

"Yes," smirked Seamus. "I know that. Your welcome. Look, I know some blokes - and girls, too - that play a game every couple of weeks or so and I think the next one is coming up. I'm sure there'd be room for you."

"Can I come?" asked Blaise eagerly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You've never played Quidditch in your life."

"Will Miss Brown be there?" asked Blaise, smiling widely at Lavender who inexplicably blushed. Blaise, with his pristine suits and flawless skin and beaming smile, had that effect on most people.

"Um... yes."

"And do you play?"

"No."

"Then there you have it!" Blaise threw his hands up, beaming around at the table. "I can come. Can't I, Seamus?"

"Er," Seamus looked mildly uncomfortable with all of Blaise's exuberance focused solely on him. "Sure."

"You people don't know what you're getting into," warned Draco, but it had already been settled and what the _fuck_ was going on? He looked around the table and saw the most random people in his life and yet they all accepted him and each other and it was really rather beautiful, when he thought about it.

Also, incredibly soppy.

"What was that you said about being a taste tester?" Blaise asked Nott thoughtfully, and Draco shook his head slowly as both Nott and Seamus' expressions lit up like a collective sun.

"Wanna come on back?" Seamus asked eagerly. "We just made a new one!"

"This is a mistake," Draco said.

Everyone ignored him and then suddenly it was just him and Neville and Lavender, all sitting awkwardly at the table.

"We're the normal ones," Lavender said.

"Yes," said Draco.

Neville sighed. "I should probably go back there to make sure they don't permanently scar him, shouldn't I?"

"Probably," said Lavender.

They watched him leave and Draco drank his bitter coffee and Lavender broke apart her muffin. Why she even ordered one, he had no idea, since she rarely ate it. Maybe just to have something to fiddle with. He sat there and watched her, watched her scars shining dully in the low lighting and watched how she would still sometimes reach up to try and press her hair against her face.

"You look lovely, Lavender," he told her.

She looked up, squinted at him on purpose, and then smiled. "Shouldn't I be trying to make you feel better?"

He sighed. "Are you going to go about doing that by asking me about my feelings?"

"I was probably just going to bash him some more," she admitted.

He grinned. "Go ahead."

"He's got the ugliest fucking nose I've ever seen," she said promptly. "And the odor around him smells of rotten onions and bad cheese. Honestly, I'm not even sure how you put with that annoying way he sniffles and how he's constantly asking you where you're at - he's full of lies and shit, lies and shit, and you're much, much better off without him."

"You haven't even seen him," said Draco, shaking his head with a slow smile because she _had_ seen him and if she knew that, she would never be saying those words.

"He's automatically ugly if he dropped someone as pretty as you," she grinned.

The smile on his face disappeared. "He did drop me, didn't he? I said I did, but it was really him, the entire time. He never actually even really liked me, and that's the problem. He just used me for... for a shag now and then and the entire time, he didn't give a single shit about me at all."

"Oh - oh, Draco," said Lavender, expression falling. "I didn't -"

"I know you didn't."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"He's an asshole."

"He's not though," said Draco desperately. "He's really not."

"Draco," she said quietly and her eyes burned into his almost painfully. "Do you think I deserved to be attacked by Greyback?"

He jerked away, startled, and almost knocked his coffee over. "No!" he said, horrified. "Of course not. Why would I -"

"Do you think I deserve to have my own father unable to look me in the face because of how I look?"

"Lavender, _no_."

"Well, I did," she said. "I did, for a very long time. I thought I was stupid and shallow in Hogwarts, that I didn't do enough for the war effort, that I didn't help Harry as much as I could have."

Draco flinched.

"I looked at myself in the mirror every fucking day, Draco, and all I saw were my mistakes. Ways that I could have done more to prevent this from happening to me - ways that made me feel like I deserved each and every scar I got. I stopped eating entirely because all I wanted was raw meat and that made me feel _dirty. _And I stopped going out in public because I felt as though everyone was staring at me, all the time, wondering what that poor stupid girl had done to look like that. I did everything I could to become nothing, Draco, and finally I just had to stop and look at myself and realise I was more than my past."

There was a long silence.

Lavender shook her head. "Draco, you are more than your past. And you are more than your fucking scars. And you are _more _than some random shag in a hotel room."

His throat felt tight. "Lavender -"

"Say it," she ordered.

"Laven-"

"_Say it_. Say, I'm worth more."

Draco swallowed hard. "I'm - worth more."

Lavender smiled. "Yes. You are."

He thought of Potter fucking him into the desk. He thought of Potter refusing to talk to him about what was really going on. He thought of Potter smoking his fucking cigarettes and owling at the last second and being surprised that Draco would ever leave him.

"I'm worth more."

* * *

The Quidditch match was held in a random field behind Luna's house a week and a half later and contained some of the most random collection of people Draco had ever encountered. There was Luna and her boyfriend, an exotic-looking man who seemed fascinated by the sport and, in fact, everything anyone did; Seamus, Lavender, and Neville; Blaise (who had never looked more out of place with his dark suit and Oxfords); Draco himself; far too many Weasleys and their spouses for him to count; an assortment of people Draco had forgotten their names; and, of course, the Boy Who Lived.

"Blaise," said Draco from the corner they had chosen (which wasn't really a corner at all since this was a field, obviously). "I didn't think he would be here. Why didn't I think he would be here? And his - _wife_ -" Draco choked.

"Calm down," soothed Blaise, not looking bothered in the least. "He probably won't notice you -"

"Who won't notice you?" asked Lavender who had just arrived at Draco's shoulder.

Draco whirled on her and panicked entirely. "I lied about David Phillips. It's Potter that I've been having the affair with."

Lavender blinked.

Blaise snorted. "Smooth. I can see why they put you in Slytherin."

Lavender said, "Um."

"Please don't hate me," said Draco desperately.

She frowned at once. "Why would I - oh shit. Oh _shit_. You've been -" and suddenly she seemed to realize several things at once. "And I said - and he's here - and _Ginny_ - oh shit."

"Shhhh," shushed Draco, looking miserable and flustered and red-faced all at once. "What the hell do I do? Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Blaise, Blaise, pretend like you have to go to the hospital."

"Okay!" said Blaise grandly. "What shall I do?"

"Um, um, vomit - "

"In this outfit?" he scoffed. "You're on your own."

"Oh _fuck,_" groaned Draco. "Is he looking over here?"

Both Lavender and Blaise turned while Draco ducked his head and clutched at his hair.

"No," said Blaise. "He's talking with Weasley. Er - the... youngest male Weasley. Damn, there are a lot of them. How the hell do we keep them apart?"

"You could try their first names, for one," suggested Lavender dryly.

"You are not _helping_," and if Draco didn't have some wine right at this very second, he might hurl. Or faint. Or do something ridiculous like snog Potter in front of everything. Oh Merlin.

"Oh, right," she said. "Umm... Well, you two are the only Seekers, so... obviously you're going to be on opposite teams - you could beat him at Quidditch?"

Blaise and Draco stared at her.

"What?" she frowned. "Is that a Gryffindor thing to do? Why are you staring at me?"

"Very Gryffindor," nodded Blaise. And then he beamed. "I like it. Yes, do that, Draco."

"_How_? I couldn't even fucking beat him at Hogwarts and now -"

"Oooh, I know!" said Lavender brightly. "When you're both right next to the Snitch and he's flying beside you, just lean in and say something really dirty about how you've shagged him and then he'll falter and you'll win and you can lord it over him for the rest of eternity!"

Blaise and Draco stared at her.

"What?" she frowned again. "Still Gryffindor?"

"No," said Blaise, slowly shaking her head. "Slytherin. Very Slytherin." He turned to Draco. "I like this one. Keep her."

Lavender smirked, not looking at all like she had just found out Draco Malfoy was shagging Harry Potter but rather as if she were enjoying herself far too much.

"Are you sure?" asked Draco nervously. "I could still leave -"

"OI! YOU LOT! Come over, we're picking teams!" shouted Seamus and all three of them froze, Draco and Lavender looking guilty and Blaise just looking excited.

"Shit," said Draco.

"You've got this," encouraged Lavender.

"If you die, can I have your mother?" asked Blaise.

"My _mother?_"

"OI!"

They all hurried over to where the crowd had gathered, Draco very pointedly looking away from where Potter stood. His whole body felt tense, his blood thrumming with adrenaline like he was about to start a race - and he swallowed tightly, stomach roiling. How long had it been now since he'd seen Potter? Two weeks now? Longer? Had Potter had another out-of-control moment? Had Potter -

"Right," said Seamus from the center of the crowd, clapping his hands together and then rubbing them enthusiastically. "Teams go as follows: the Powerful Pansies are made up of Dean, Neville, Michael, Ron, Susan, Bill, and Harry! The opposing team, the Mousy Muffins, includes Angelina, Ginny, myself, George, Marco, and Draco! Everyone to their brooms!"

"Who the hell picked those atrocious names?" muttered Blaise and Lavender rolled her eyes and muttered back: "Who do you think?"

Draco gave them a suspicious look. "I dearly hope you two will be figuring out how to help me while I'm up there playing."

They both gave him identical smiles that he didn't trust. His two closest friends and he didn't even trust them. God damn.

"Hey, Malfoy - stop chatting up the cheerleaders and get your bloody broom," called Seamus with a wide grin as he ran past.

Draco winced. "I hate my life."

Lavender looked thoughtful, her eyes trained on something behind Draco. "Yeah... but I think Harry hates his a little more right now, which is all that really matters. After all - his wife and his ex-boyfriend are on the same team, aren't they?"

Draco blanched. He hadn't thought of that.

"Draco!"

"Right. Leaving now. Wish me luck." And he trotted off, wiping his sweating palms on the sides of his trousers as he did so and picking up his broomstick as he fell back next to the rest of his team. He wasn't going to look - he told himself he wasn't - and then right as the whistle blew, his eyes snapped across the field and latched onto those familiar green eyes.

Potter was staring right back at him, expression intense.

Draco's stomach dropped, the whistle blew, and before he was knew what was happening, everyone had already pushed off the ground and he was scrambling to hurry up, nearly falling off as he shot in the air. The wind pushed into his face, sweeping back in his hair and stinging his eyes in a familiar fashion and he felt himself relax instantly, his body leaning into the broomstick as he flew. This was what Seamus had been talking about - what every Quidditch player knew. How easy it was to lose himself, how easy it was to forget everything, doing nothing but sweeping the sky with narrowed eyes and dodging bludgers.

Except -

Except Potter was ruining it for him.

"Fuck you," he muttered under his breath, a dark scowling crossing his face as he glanced over his shoulder and saw Potter following him again. "STOP IT," he shouted over his shoulder and then dropped into a dive, hurtling towards the ground and feeling his clothes flatten against his skin as he neared the grass.

"Malfoy!" he heard behind him, and damn it all if Potter wasn't following him into the dive as well - that was all the stupid sod had done the entire game so far. Follow Draco. It was as if he'd forgotten they were playing Quidditch, as if he'd forgotten he was on the opposite team. As if his entire focus at the moment was Draco.

And it made Draco furious.

Jerking up abruptly out the dive, he felt his stomach drop completely and ignored the sensation, instead leaning into his broom and shooting as fast as he could across the field. Another glance behind revealed Potter was right on his tail, looking determined in that way that meant he refused to give up - and Draco gritted his teeth, hating him for it.

Finally, he stopped. A glance around revealed that none of the other players were paying any attention to the Seekers; if anything, most of the attention was on the Beaters, particularly as one of the Bludgers was currently trailing bubbles in its wake and George was smirking broadly.

"Can you fucking leave me alone?" hissed Draco once Potter had pulled up next to him, looking windswept and edgy. "I'm just trying to play a game - can you not even give me that much?"

"I just want to talk to you," said Potter.

"Son of a _bitch_," swore Draco. "Well, fuck you, Potter because guess what? _I _don't want to talk to _you_."

And he jerked his broom around - only to find Potter right there on the other side of him, appearing so quickly it was as if he'd Apparated. "Please," was all he said.

"_No_," snarled Draco. "I have nothing to say to you." He tried to fly away again -

Only to be blocked a second time.

"Draco, please, I can explain," said Potter desperately.

Draco stopped. His name. His name which Potter only said when they were fucking. It made his insides freeze. "If you win, we talk. If I win, you leave me the hell alone."

And Potter was off.

Draco stared at him with mild shock, watching as Potter zipped from here to there like a lightning bug, disappearing for a moment and then flashing into existence a moment later as he circled the pitch with ease. He was - he was foolish. And fucking selfish. And also a twat. And if he won, Draco might just die.

But, Merlin, could the man fly.

"Buck up there, mate!" said Seamus as he flew past and Draco frowned.

Right. Winning.

He moved. He flew just like he had in Hogwarts, easing into wind currents and then out again, leaning close over his broomstick and circling all the other players, his eyes flashing from one spot to the next, searching searching for that one flare of gold, that one sparkle that meant the Snitch was near -

And then suddenly Draco's heart flew into his throat.

There it was.

He saw it hovering happily near the bottom of one of the goal posts and he was off, flying soaring diving angling towards the goal and feeling a wicked grin cross his face because here was something he was good at, here was something he didn't have to try at.

Except Potter was better. And Potter was gaining on him.

Draco strained, throwing himself harder towards the Snitch, his hands shaking slightly as he neared and he stretched his arm out towards it - and Potter was at his shoulder - and Potter was edging in on him -

"Want a celebratory fuck afterwards?" called Draco desperately, his hope dying in his chest. He wouldn't be able to win the Snitch, he wouldn't be able to deny Potter; no, he would just spend the rest of his life as Potter's on-the-side shag, nothing but Potter's fuck toy, and it was all because of this moment here -

Potter faltered.

Draco shot the last couple of inches forward and his hand closed around the Snitch. He pulled out of the dive just in time, shock etched across his face as he soared into the air and stared down at the fluttering wings poking out between his fingers. He looked back and suddenly choked.

Potter hadn't pulled up in time. Potter was laying on the ground, bleeding.

When looking back on it, Draco couldn't quite remember the time between seeing Potter's body on the ground and landing himself - it was as if his gaze had narrowed in on Potter and then suddenly he was right there, dropping his broom and crouching down next to him.

"Potter?" he asked, his hand hovering over the prone body, his eyes wide and frightened. He heard someone land behind him. "Potter?"

"What happened? Is Harry okay?" It was Ginny and she sounded frantic.

"Back off," snarled Draco, standing and whirling around in one smooth move, his eyes flashing dangerously. He tried to compose himself. "I mean - I'm a Healer. He needs his air."

She didn't seem to have noticed his protective stance, instead focusing all her attention on Harry. "He's - he's moving! Look!"

And he was. Draco was kneeling back down next to him in a flash, heart thudding loudly in his chest, and he pushed some of Potter's damp hair back tentatively, swallowing. "Potter?" he whispered.

"Need... to lay down," mumbled Potter, eyes fluttering open and shut quickly.

"He wants to lay down," said Draco with authority as he stood up. "What's the nearest house?"

"Mine," said Luna, not looking the least bit bothered by the fact that Harry Potter was laying on injured on the grass. For the smallest moment Draco wanted to hit her and then he swallowed and forced back the urge, remembering that he had no claim over Potter any more - that he'd never had a claim over Potter.

He looked around at the small crowd of people that had gathered and pulled himself up to his fullest height. "Then I'll take him there. I've had training in mending bones - Potter, are you okay with that?"

There was a heavy silence and it was obvious that everyone was waiting for Potter to reject this plan that _Malfoy_ be the one to take care of him - but then came a small voice, a small voice that was clearly Potter's, a small voice that was clearly Potter's that was saying, "Yes."

"So that's settled," said Draco, clapping his hands together. Then he looked at everyone expectantly. "I don't think Potter is the type to want everyone to hover around anxiously. It was just a scratch, wasn't it, Potter?"

Another long pause and then - "Yes. Everyone... stop worrying."

Ron rolled his eyes, and there again was another person not looking the least bit worried. It was a bit harder for Draco to restrain himself this time. "What an idiot. He - wait, what's that in your hand, Malfoy?"

"I - what?" and Draco lifted his hand, staring blankly at the Snitch still weakly struggling against his clench fist. "Oh. Yeah. I won, I guess."

Seamus let out a great cheer. "YES! THE MOUSY MUFFINS WIN ALL! Now where's Blaise; the git owes me five galleons."

Slowly the crowd started dispersing, breaking into chatter, and Draco turned back to Potter, feeling his stomach clench as he took in that pale skin and closed eyelids. He lifted his wand, pointing it at Potter and whispering, "Hold still," as he cast a silent Levitating Charm on him, watching as Potter was lifted into the air, his body held perfectly still.

He turned and then jerked with surprise as he came face-to-face with Hermione. "Shit!" he said, concentration breaking, and he would have dropped Potter - except suddenly her wand was there too, pointing at him and holding him up. She looked at Draco curiously. "Got him?"

Draco tensed. "Of course I have him."

"Be careful," she advised and in that moment it felt like she knew, it felt like she knew all of his secrets, every single last of them - but that was stupid, she was only looking out for her best friend, she didn't care about Draco. Her_ be careful _certainly didn't mean _be careful that he doesn't hurt you _but rather the opposite - _be careful you don't hurt him._

It made him feel lost.

Draco swallowed. "I'm always careful."

"I know you are," she said, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "But - just - you know," she lowered her voice, "Harry says things without thinking sometimes. Just because you two were rivals in school shouldn't hinder any friendship now. I, for one," she said louder, smiling at him, "think you're a brilliant flier."

He deflated slightly. She definitely didn't know. Why had he thought she would? Why had he _hoped_ she would? Maybe because he just wanted someone to tell him what to do and Granger inexplicably seemed like she would know. Instead, he offered her a weak smile in return. "Right. We are more than our past."

Hermione blinked and then beamed at him as if he'd just told her he knew a new spell or said he would join SPEW. "More than our past. Congratulations on winning, Draco." She patted him on the arm, flashed him another smile, whispered something to Harry, and then left.

Draco stared after her. Winning. He had won, hadn't he? Except it didn't feel like he had, not at all. In fact, it felt a lot like the opposite of winning. Yes, it felt a great deal like Draco had lost. The feeling was familiar. He walked with Potter up the steep hill, almost panting by the time he'd reached the top, and then forced open a door and entered the house, softly levitating Potter down onto a bright orange couch.

Everything slowed for a moment as Draco stared down at Potter, his eyebrows drawn together with a worried line in between them as he watched Potter's chest rise and fall with his breathing. _Please get better,_ he thought silently, his hand twitching at his side as he tried not reach out and stroke Potter's hair. _Please._

And then Potter's eyes flashed open, meeting Draco's and looking incredibly alert for someone who had just smashed into the ground. "So is the congratulatory fuck now or later?" he asked brightly, jerking upright and Draco yelped, stumbling away from Potter and tripping over a footstool. He hit the ground, hard, and stared over at Potter, expression aghast.

"What the _fuck_."

Potter got off the couch, placing a hand on his back and groaning slightly as he stretched. "Merlin, that was a hard fall. Lucky for wandless magic, yeah?"

"Lucky?" screeched Draco, feeling completely mad. "_Lucky_?"

"Er," said Potter.

"You fucking _FAKED A FALL?_"

"Er," said Potter again.

"For what?" fumed Draco. His face felt splotchy and his hair a complete wreck and his heart was pounding too loudly in his chest. He was still sitting on the floor, staring incredulously up at Potter. "So you could _TALK TO ME_? WELL, HERE I FUCKING AM, POTTER."

"You wouldn't listen," said Potter weakly, shifting from foot to foot. "And I lost. So - um."

"You're insane," spat Draco and he scrambled to his feet, pointing a shaky finger at Potter. "You stay the hell away from me. Faking falls and - and pretending to be sick so that I'll take you up here and -" He stopped and turned, stalking to the door and reaching it just as it clicked shut. He rattled the doorknob and then rammed his shoulder into it, growling as it stayed immobile. "Where's my - wand -" Draco fumbled on his person and then spun around and froze as he saw Potter calmly pointing his wand at him.

Draco sneered. "Going to steal that one too then? Or - wait, no, better, going to use an Unforgivable on me with my own wand? You seem to like those, if I recall."

"I'm not - Malfoy," sighed Potter.

"Oh, that's right," said Draco mock thoughtfully, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "How silly of me. Sectumsempra wasn't an Unforgivable, was it? No, all it did was open up my entire chest. So if you'd like to use my wand just for that, go right ahead."

"Malfoy," said Potter flatly. "Can you please just - look," he said frustratedly, running a hand over his hair, "I'm _trying_ here."

Draco gave him a disgusted look. "_Why_?"

Potter hadn't expected that. "I - what do you mean why?"

"I mean why the hell are you trying? Why do you care, Potter?" demanded Draco, unable to help himself from taking a step forward. There was something red on the side of Potter's head and he wondered if Potter had somehow managed to fake that and just what other sick plans Potter was willing to put into practise to get to Draco.

"Because - because," sputtered Potter. He looked bewildered. "I -"

"You _what_? You could get any bloke you wanted," said Draco nastily. "Anyone in the _world_ would love to have you fuck them into their mattress - so why me?" And suddenly he felt exhausted. "Look - Potter... Harry. Have you ever once considered leaving your wife for me?"

Potter looked stunned. "Leave - Ginny? Malfoy, I can't do that, you know I can't -"

"I know you can't," said Draco quietly. "You've never even considered it, have you? Don't worry, I didn't either, not until a little while ago. But what were you planning on doing, Potter? Using me for the rest of your life to suppress your problems while you lie to your wife?"

"I'm not -"

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously and Potter stopped. "At least give me this one thing," said Draco tightly. "And _admit_ that you're using me. Can you at least own up to that much? Because you are. You have problems from the war, Potter, and when you screw me, it goes away. Isn't that right?"

"I -" Potter looked broken. "It - it happened again. You walked out and I waited for you to owl me and you didn't and I couldn't control anything and my office -" He looked ashamed and then suddenly his expression cleared and he shook his head, eyes growing carefully guarded.

Draco sighed. "See? You can't even tell me about it. You can't admit that you use me to get your stress out and your worries away. You can't admit that you don't even love your own wife anymore. So tell me," and he took another step forward, lifting his chin up, "_why._"

There was a thick silence between them and then Draco shook his head and turned away, feeling something crumble in his chest -

"Because with you around I feel _safe,_" said Potter and Draco turned back around and they both stood there, staring at each other, until finally Potter looked away. "Because you're so different from how you were in the War - and I - I look at you and how much you've changed and it keeps me here, in the present. But with everyone else, I just feel like I'm on the edge of this cliff and a single reminder could be the thing that pushes me over the edge." He looked back at Draco, his expression blazing. "But you're so firmly _here_, I could never think of the past around you. When I'm around you, I feel like you're... you're the only thing holding me here."

It was the most open Potter had ever been with Draco, and Draco couldn't accept it.

"Potter..."

"Draco, _please_," said Potter, taking a step towards him. His expression was tormented. "I - I'll treat you better, I swear, anything you want -"

"What I want," said Draco quietly, "is a relationship. And you can't give that to me. You're saying this now because you want me back, but what if I accept? Then suddenly you'll close back up again. And I can't... I can't do that anymore."

"We don't have to have sex!" said Potter desperately and it was obvious that he was clutching at straws now. "We could just - we could just be friends. I just - don't cut me out of your life again. I can't do that, Malfoy. Draco."

Draco looked away, his chest feeling tight. "You can't have everything, Potter."

"I don't want everything," said Potter and now he almost sounded petulant, like a child. "I just want you."

Draco shook his head, pressing his lips together. _And Ginny, and your job, and your best friends and for everyone to love and admire you..._

"Just friends?" he finally asked.

A quick glance proved disappointment flashing across Potter's face before he straightened, his face hardening as if he were resigning himself to something. He forced a smile, looking strained. "I can be a very nice friend, Malfoy."

And hell if he didn't walk the rest of the way to close the gap between them and thrust his hand out towards Draco, a mimicry of what Draco had done all those years ago.

Draco stared at that hand for a moment, remembering just how it felt wrapped around his cock and cupping his cheek and caressing his side - and then he sighed and slipped his hand into Potter's, his gaze flickering up to meet Potter's earnest green eyes. "You're a prick."

"I want to kiss you," murmured Potter, and his pupils dilated the longer he looked at Draco, his expression going tense with longing.

Draco pulled away, guarded. "Can you do this or can't you?"

Potter jerked, caught off-guard, and then coughed. "I can. I swear I can, I just - have to get used to it."

Draco sighed. "Come on, then. It's time to go announce your miraculous recovery to all your mates." He reached the door and then paused, turning back with a sharp grin. "Oh - and, as your friend, I would like to point out that I _won_ and you _lost _and also, how does it feel to lose to a team called the Mousy Muffins?"

* * *

"We're standing in the middle of a park," said Draco, staring at the people happily milling about in front of them with their dogs and their picnics and their fucking kites. "Is this really what you do with your friends?"

"Er," said Potter. "Well, I don't... have very many friends."

"Don't be daft, Potter," said Draco absently, not glancing at him as he continued to stare. "What do you call all those people who were at the Quidditch match last Saturday? Granted, I wouldn't want to call them 'friends' either, but..."

"I mean - I don't have any close friends," said Potter and he sounded uncomfortable enough that Draco finally swiveled around to look at him. Any time Potter was uncomfortable meant something amusing might happen for Draco's entertainment, but this didn't look very entertaining, only sad. "What?" asked Potter blankly.

"What do you mean what?"

"I mean, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you just said you don't have friends, Potter. Even I have friends and I'm... well, you know."

"No," frowned Potter. "I don't know. What are you?"

Draco sighed loudly. "An ex-Death Eater. A suspected convict. _Blond _- take your pick."

"Since when is being blond a crime?"

Draco sniffed. "People are jealous of my good looks, naturally."

Potter sounded amused. "Naturally."

"Stop changing the subject - we were discussing your utter lack of close companions. You have absolutely no excuse, since you're the Savior of the Wizarding World, so what is it that I'm missing? Please. Enlighten me."

"You just said it," shrugged Potter awkwardly. "I'm the _Savior_. Everyone thinks they already know who I am because they've read one of my autobiographies or read an article about my favourite flavour ice cream or seen my picture in the _Daily Prophet_. No one bothers to actually get to know me. And, I don't know. All the rest of my friends have families and are too busy to see me."

"So what do you do in your spare time?"

Potter blinked. "I... I'm an Auror."

"I said spare time, Potter."

"I don't have spare time."

"That's ridiculous," huffed Draco. "Everyone has spare time. Everyone has hobbies."

"Well then, what do you do?"

"I like to collect amateur artwork."

Potter stared. "You do what?"

"I collect amateur artwork."

"Amateur?" asked Potter, sounding baffled. "Why amateur? If anything, I would have thought you would only like the famous pieces, you know, where everyone pays millions of pounds just to be in the same room -"

"Well," said Draco lightly, "I guess you could say that you don't know me very well then, do you?"

There was an awkward silence.

Draco looked away, and Potter looked at Draco.

"I'm sorry," said Potter, and fuck if he didn't sound completely sincere, as though he wanted nothing more than to get on his knees for Draco right then and there. "I'm so sorry -"

"Stop," sighed Draco, looking now at the ground. "You don't have to apologise. It's - I mean, I guess I can understand why you'd think that. But I guess I just love the underappreciated artists, yeah? The ones that are struggling and barely have enough money to pay the bills and yet are still doing what they love best -" He looked at Potter now. "I like to believe that the best beauty comes from struggling."

Potter stared at him so solemnly and for so long without saying anything that Draco turned pink, coughing and looking back at the ground. "That's beautiful, Malfoy."

"Yeah, well." Draco squinted. "So we're at the park - like you suggested - and it's four o'clock on a Tuesday - like you suggested - so what do we do now?"

Potter frowned absentmindedly. "I'm not quite sure. I didn't think that part through all the way."

"Brilliant."

"I thought it would sort of just come to me once we got here."

"And has it?"

"Sadly no," said Potter and he looked far more upset than the situation really warranted. "We could... go for a walk?"

"How long is this walk supposed to last?"

Now Potter was starting to scowl. "I don't _know_, do I? I said I didn't have very many friends. I don't think I've ever really done this before."

"Well what do you and Granger and Weasley do together?"

They started walking, Potter awkwardly shuffling next to Draco's smooth gait. "Mainly... mainly Hermione talks about work and Ron talks to me about the Cannons and then Rosie starts crying and we get interrupted. Mostly."

"God, is that it?"

"Mostly."

"And who else do you talk to?"

"Umm... blokes at work, mainly," said Potter, reaching up to scratch at his stubble. "Ginny, obviously. And then when there's a Quidditch game, all those other people that show up. And... you."

"You really need to get out more," said Draco, slowly shaking his head. He slid his hands deeply into his pockets, feeling something warm start in his chest as they followed a dirt trail through a collection of trees. What the hell were they doing? It felt ridiculous, it felt impossible, so why did Draco feel like he'd just won something magnificent?

Potter frowned. "Well who do _you _talk to outside of work?"

"Quite a lot, actually," said Draco, hiding his surprise at the fact that he could say that now. A year - even six months ago, he would have said two names. Now, a whole list appeared at the forefront of his mind.

"Name three," grumbled Potter.

"Lavender, Blaise, Neville," said Draco promptly.

Potter paused and Draco ended up a few steps past him, turning back to look at him with arched eyebrows.

"You talk to Neville? More importantly - you're on a first name basis with _Neville?_"

Draco rolled his eyes. "For an Auror, you're hideously unobservant."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've probably let quite a few cases slip, with that level of obliviousness, you know," Draco continued thoughtfully.

"Malfoy."

"Let's test it: how many fingers am I holding up?" Draco held up three fingers.

Potter glared. "Three. Are you done?"

"Wrong," grinned Draco. "I was holding up two more behind my back."

"Cheater."

They started walking again.

"I didn't cheat - you're just incredibly unobservant. A real Auror would have thought, 'Slytherin,' and then looked behind my back. Admit it, Potter, you're inadequate for the position. I'd advise that you quit now before you get publicly fired and come whinging to me about mortal embarrassment or something."

Potter was silent for a moment and then: "What am I supposed to do if they really _do _fire me?"

Draco looked at him, startled. "For being unobservant? Potter, I was joking -"

"For having uncontrollable magic," said Potter tightly. "I was in my office during the last attack and it - it ruined so much. And Robards came in and caught me right in the middle of it. I know he's wondering what will happen if I'm in the field and that happens."

They walked quietly by each other for a moment and then Draco summoned his courage and asked, "What is it like? What do you... feel when it's happening?"

"It's like..." Harry went silent, and Draco was about to speak again when suddenly he shook his head. "Like nothing else. Like all of a sudden, everything is turned up on high volume and everything is crystal clear. And my entire body is tense and I'm so _angry_ - at everything. At everyone that died and everyone that fought for Voldemort and my magic just feels so wild and out of control -"

"Hypervigilance," interrupted Draco.

Potter glanced at him. "There's a name for it?"

"For that symptom, yes."

"You think I have a disease?"

"I think you have... problems," said Draco, not bothering to sound gentle. Potter could handle it. "But I think everyone has problems. And I just think you handle yours differently than the rest of us."

"And that's wrong?"

"It's wrong if you fucking kill yourself!" snapped Draco, his skin burning blotchily. He stopped again, glaring at the other man. "It's wrong if you refuse to talk to people that care about you and - and -"

"You care about me, Draco?" asked Potter quietly, his eyes a slow burn as he looked at Draco.

Draco turned away. "We're friends."

"Yeah."

"Only friends."

"Okay."

"Should I go?"

"Please don't."

Draco huffed again and started walking, not even caring if Potter was following him or not. What was wrong with him? Why was he putting up with this kind of torture? He hated it - and yet he kept walking, hands thrust deep into his pockets and expression dark.

Potter walked quietly beside him, not saying anything. Finally, he cleared his throat and asked, "Why - why should it be obvious that you're on a first name basis with Neville?"

"We talked at the Quidditch match."

"Oh."

Draco frowned. Why was Potter purposely making this all so difficult for him? Why did he have to let his gaze linger on Draco and give him that little frown that said _I want more_? For once, Draco wanted an easy relationship. Was that too much to fucking ask for?

"How did you get to know him?"

"What?" asked Draco distractedly. And then - "Oh. We... we get coffee sometimes. A group of us, during breaks at the hospital."

"But Neville doesn't work for the hospital."

"No, he doesn't. He works for Green Thumbs and Co. - good job, Potter, your observational skills might be able to be salvaged after all."

Potter made a sound like he was terribly amused and trying not to be. "I still don't understand then."

"What's there to understand? I work the night shift, so does Lavender and Nott; we meet Neville at the Brewery and Seamus works there whenever he can because he's bloody broke and we all have coffee. And sometimes Seamus and Nott create a new type of muffin and try to force me to eat it, only lately Blaise has been letting them willingly ruin his taste buds, so Lavender, Neville, and I just sort of sit there and mock everyone."

"Can I come to one of them?"

Draco gave him a dry look. "You really want to come drink coffee with us at five in the morning?"

Potter set in jaw in a stubborn way. "Yes."

Draco swallowed and looked away. "I don't know."

"Why not?"

"Because - because -" Draco stopped talking and quickened his pace - until a hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him back and then suddenly he and Potter were standing face to face, staring at each other. "I can't do this," whispered Draco, eyes wide and frightened. "I can't be around you all the time, Potter, and pretend like we're... this. Like this is all we've been."

"You're the one that said you only wanted be friends."

"I don't want to be anything else," and Draco broke away, crossing his arms against his chest with a troubled expression. "I don't want to be _anything._ Except I do," he added hurriedly as Potter's expression fell. "I just - I don't know. I'm trying. And I know you are too. And I appreciate that. But I just can't right now."

"I understand," said Potter quietly. "I just... I don't know what to do to convince you I care for you."

"Do you, Potter?"

"Yes," said Potter instantly, his gaze snapping to Draco's and stinging with his desperation. "_Yes,_ Draco, I do -"

"Then just... give me time," said Draco, looking away. He used to love it when Potter looked at him, used to crave for the moment when he would feel visible - but now he felt too vulnerable, too open underneath those eyes. And now he had Lavender and Neville and Nott and Seamus who saw him as well. It was then that he realised he didn't need Potter in his life quite as much as he'd used to - and was that a good thing or a bad thing?

He couldn't quite decide.

* * *

"Uh, I'll have the same," said Draco and then turned back to Lavender, startled to see her staring intently at him. "What?" he asked, self-conscious. "You care if I get the same drink as you? I could change it..."

"Draco," said Lavender, sounding long-suffering. "Are you really going to make me beg for it?"

He stared at her blankly.

"Draco," she said again, clearly frustrated. "_Please_. I am dying to know - _dying_! - what happened between you and Harry. I know that's why you asked me to meet you here tonight, so if we could just hurry this up along..." She waved her hand in a mindless gesture and then leaned forward, brown eyes wide with anticipation. "Did he apologise to you?"

Oh. Draco opened his mouth, trying to piece together beforehand an appropriate explanation in his mind - and then closed his mouth again as he realised he had absolutely no idea what to tell her. "You're the one who asked to meet _me_ here," he finally pointed out lamely, shifting uncomfortably.

She dismissed this with a roll of her eyes. "Technicalities. I know something happened between you two - and we haven't worked the same shift in so long that I haven't had a chance to properly hear it, so - _Draco_."

_Dammit, _he chided himself silently. _This is why having friends is dangerous._

"I... ah, yes drinks!" said Draco cheerfully and jumped out of his chair, scaring the poor waitress to death as he grabbed the two drinks and then planted one down in front of Lavender. He dropped back into his chair and swallowed the dark amber liquid in one go, choking slightly at the sudden burn. "The hell did you order?" he wheezed, feeling completely wild and undone at the edges. Potter had owled him twice more since their park escapade, and he had found ways to avoid him both times - and then Lavender had invited him to the pub, a week after the park day with Potter, and he'd naively accepted, not expecting the sort of interrogation she had obviously been planning.

Lavender smiled wickedly at him now, her scars gleaming threateningly in the low lighting. "Technicalities," she said again. "Can we focus on the real issue here?"

"Which is?"

"You're not telling me what's going on," she said, and now she pouted slightly, a hint of the old Lavender from Hogwarts showing through. The new Lavender that drank coffee with him was dry and hardened and knew what it was like to be mocked and ignored - while the old Lavender was prissy and frivolous and gossipy. He wondered what it meant that he was apparently now allowed access to both. "I thought we were friends?"

"We are," he sulked and then sighed, making a hand motion to the waitress to signal another drink. "Look - I... I'm not really sure what happened between us, yeah? I thought we were over. I ended it between us."

"And I think you did the right thing," she encouraged. "He was - well," she frowned. "I mean, it's different now that I know who it is, you know? Because I know he's a good bloke. But -" her frown deepened at the expression on Draco's face. "Stop that; I'm on your side here. You know I am. You're not the one cheating on your wife, you know? I can't help that I know him. I still think what he's doing is wrong, it's just... you know."

Draco did know - and that wasn't why he was frowning. No, he was frowning because it was one thing to tell himself that what Potter was doing was wrong - and it was an entirely different thing to hear someone else say it. He wanted to defend Potter and hate him at the same time and what the fuck kind of twisted logic was that?

"I'm sick of being just... there for him," said Draco quietly, staring down into his drink, and he saw Lavender bite her lip out of the corner of his eye. He steeled himself and then said: "We're friends now."

"Friends?"

He shrugged, still adamantly looking down. "You don't think we can be friends?"

"I didn't say that."

Finally he looked up. "What do you honestly think then?"

She hesitated. "What's the... point?"

"The point?"

"Yeah. You think he'll change? You think he'll leave Ginny? You think he won't convince you to go back to how it used to be?"

Draco frowned. "I'm strong enough to just be friends."

"Yes - and _better _than that. You don't need someone who won't offer you anything. So what's the point?"

Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin, his whole stomach was twisting and Draco picked up the drink that had somehow arrived at his elbow when he wasn't looking and threw it back, swallowing it and feeling it burn all the way down his chest. His hands fell to his lap and he clenched them together tightly, trying to stop it from coming out before - he looked up at Lavender, eyes wide. "The point is that I think I love him."

"Oh shit," said Lavender.

"Oh shit," he agreed.

"You - really?"

"I think so."

"Draco..."

"I know."

"I mean he's -"

"I _know._"

And they stared at each for a long moment, Draco trying to figure out when the hell it had gotten to the point where he thought he could confess something of that magnitude to Lavender Brown. Somehow, though, he felt as though she understood - what it was like to be second best, what it was like to be the one never chosen, what it was like to be ignored and invisible and unwanted.

"Does he know?" she finally asked.

"No," said Draco immediately, almost having a panic attack at the very thought. "Please don't tell anyone."

"Of course I wouldn't. But... don't you think you should tell him at some point?"

"I can't," said Draco weakly, gripping onto the edge of the table now with a tight grip. "I - you said it yourself. He's not leaving his wife. He doesn't want me. He just wants a fuck, and for some goddamn reason, he wants it to be me. I'm not going to go crawling for him to have me," said Draco, his voice harsh now as he glared. "I'm not going to suck his cock for the rest of my fucking life. But - I can't just cut him out completely either. Filthy, _fucking_ Potter." His voice broke on the last word, sounding pathetic to his ears.

"You need something more to drink," said Lavender, abruptly pushing her drink towards him. "Have mine. I'll go get more. Stay here. Don't move. This will be okay."

He sat there at the booth, clutching her drink in his hands and not yet drinking as he swallowed hard. What had he just admitted? That he - loved Potter? When the hell had that happened? Sometime between the late night owls and the smoking and the second when Potter stared into his eyes and smiled at him and _knew_ him and whispered how much he needed him, Draco had fallen in love. But Draco had left him. Draco had left him - and you didn't leave the people you loved, did you?

Did that mean he didn't really love Potter at all?

Or did it just mean he had finally learned something about himself?

It didn't feel right; none of it felt right. Why was he telling Lavender this when he should have been telling Potter? And why did the thought of telling Potter make him feel small and miniscule and frightened? And love shouldn't hurt - so was this really love at all?

He slowly sipped the drink, now welcoming its heat, and felt the knot in his stomach loosen slightly. He would move on. That's what he would do - that's what everyone had to do, at some point in their life. You fell in love, you fell out of love. That was how the world worked.

Draco lifted his eyes to the ceiling, wondering just when he grown this weak. Perhaps when he was trying to climb away from the Fiendfyre flames and stretching for the ceiling, for freedom, for Potter, and then suddenly he was clinging onto Potter as hard as he could -

No, he had been weak before that. Definitely.

Maybe he had become weak when Voldemort had been living in his house, ordering his parents around, ordering _Draco_ around - maybe that night at the Manor when he'd thought he heard Nagini slithering around and so he ran and ran, out of his room, out of the house, running until he had reached the garden and could hide with the peacocks -

"Or maybe," said Draco aloud to himself, "you have simply been weak all your life and didn't know it."

"I don't think you're weak at all," said a female voice and then suddenly a slim figure was sliding into the seat across from him and Hermione Weasley's brown eyes were staring directly into his.

"Malfoy," she said, her voice growing quiet and intense. "I know. Harry told me everything."

They both sat there for a second, staring at each other, and then Draco jerked out of the booth and pointed his wand at her, his hand shaking madly as he stared at her.

"Go away," he told Hermione, his voice cold and hard. "Leave me the fuck alone."

"Malfoy -" she began.

"Sorry about the wait, some bloke was chatting me up -" Lavender said cheerfully, appearing at his side and then she stopped at his shoulder, falling silent at the scene before her. "Draco?"

"Malfoy," said Hermione again.

"Fuck off," snarled Draco and for a moment he didn't know which one he was talking to. "You don't know anything about my bloody life, Granger."

"It's Weasley now," she said, not moving a muscle but looking incredibly weary. "Can we please talk? I'm not here to accuse you. I already did a lot of that to Harry."

"She knows?" Lavender whispered into his ear and he jerked his head tersely in affirmative, wand not moving an inch now. Everything seemed frozen and narrowed in on Hermione and her calm gaze and - and Draco took a step back in shock as Lavender slowly left his side and slid into the seat next to Hermione, placing the tray on the table.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked Hermione politely.

"Lavender," said Draco, still fuming and defensive and feeling wild, like a cat with its back arched and fur raised.

"Draco, please," said Lavender. "Shouldn't we at least hear what she has to say?"

He stared at her with a betrayed expression and then she reached up and pushed her hair behind her left ear, her scars flashing into the light as if reminding him exactly what she had been through. Slowly, slowly, he crossed the distance and then stiffly sat down and slid his wand back into his pocket.

"Thank you," said Hermione, sounding genuine. "I shouldn't have said it like that. I'm sorry. It's just... I'm still trying to get used to it all."

"How long ago did he tell you?" asked Draco through tight lips.

"Last Thursday." So. Two days after their day at the park; five days ago. "He was... intoxicated," she said with a grim little smile. "I walked in on him and suddenly he was telling me everything that had happened and how you've helped him with his uncontrollable magic -"

"I didn't know that," said Lavender.

Draco frowned. "We don't know that for sure. It could be a coincidence."

"Do Healers believe in coincidences?" asked Hermione, arching her eyebrows.

"No," answered Lavender promptly.

"Hmm," said Hermione.

Draco glared at both of them. "So what? You're going to tell him to keep cheating on his wife just so he can be healthy? Very noble of you."

"No," said Hermione, now avoiding his gaze. "That's not what I'm going to tell him at all."

Draco planted his forearms flat on the table and leaned in, his voice low and dark. "Do you really think this is any of your fucking business, Granger? He saved the bloody _world _- don't you think you should allow him to make his own choices and face his own consequences?"

"I said I wasn't going to tell him to keep cheating on Ginny," said Hermione unflinchingly. "I'm going to tell him to _leave_ Ginny."

There was a shocked silence and Draco straightened back up, staring at her with unconcealed surprise. Lavender slowly pushed the tray of drinks to the middle of the table and he reached for one, dipping his head back, and drinking it all in one swallow. He blinked afterwards, eyes stinging slightly, and then let out a weak cough. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Granger, you can't be serious."

"Do you not want him to?" challenged Hermione, jutting her chin out sharply.

Draco swallowed and dared a look at Lavender who was staring back at him intently. His gaze flickered back to Hermione. What _did_ he want? He thought about Potter leaving his wife, he thought about Potter finally being in an open relationship with him - thought about Potter waking up next to him in the morning and holding his hand in public and telling Draco he loved him - he thought about Potter hating him for the rest of his life, for ruining everything Potter had worked so hard for.

"You shouldn't tell him what to do," he finally said. "He's his own man; he makes his own decisions."

Hermione seemed to wilt before his eyes. "I'm - I'm worried about him, Malfoy. He's so... closed off from everyone. He thinks he's responsible for capturing every criminal in Britain and he works so much - and the attacks have been increasing in frequency."

Draco's jaw clenched. "What do you expect me to do?"

"What if it gets to be too much one day? What if his magic gets too far out of control and -"

"Weasley," interrupted Lavender, her eyes still on Draco. "That's enough."

There was a heavy silence and Draco knew they were both looking at him, both wanting his direction but what the hell was he supposed to tell them? He could barely control his own life these days, much less Potter's. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of his reach and he wondered what would happen if Potter really did lose it one day. If he seriously hurt himself. It made something clench painfully in Draco's chest.

"Are you going to tell Ginny?" asked Draco lowly, eyes on his drink.

The table creaked slightly and then Hermione made a discomforted noise. "No."

"Good. It's his job to decide to tell her, and it's his job to decide _when_ to tell her - if ever."

"_If ever_," said Lavender scornfully and they both looked at her. "What?" she demanded. "It's been seven sodding months. He's had his chance to tell her and instead he tried to just keep Draco on the side and her as well. Let's be honest: he's not going to tell her."

It made something drop in Draco's stomach and he carefully hid his expression before Lavender could see it and retract her words. She was right, after all. What promises had Potter made? None. He was an empty man with zero commitment to Draco and yet Draco fucking loved him.

"Harry... Harry's been through a lot," said Hermione softly. Then she did something surprising - she reached out, taking one of the drinks, and threw it back, a small noise escaping her as it went down. "Merlin," she said weakly.

"You don't have to defend him to us," said Draco, looking away. "I know what's he been through - what we've all been through."

"I thought he was getting better," said Hermione, slowly twisting her empty glass back and forth between long fingers. He looked at her and saw tamed hair and a form-fitting suit and lines by her mouth and wondered when they had all grown up so damn much. "He - he was doing so much better. But then he had one at home and one at work..."

"I told him we had to stop," said Draco, frowning. "He didn't tell you that?"

She looked at him. "He said he wasn't good enough to keep you."

"He's not," said Lavender loudly.

Draco sighed. "He's not." A glance at Hermione proved her frowning and he looked away again. "He was using me, Granger. He had stress, he needed an out, I was there. I couldn't do that for the rest of my life."

"But you don't want him to leave Ginny," clarified Hermione.

"I don't want him to do anything because I forced him into it."

Hermione stared at him for the longest fragment of time and something changed in her countenance - one moment she was sitting with a hard expression and her posture perfectly upright - and then suddenly her shoulders dropped slightly and her eyebrows softened and her dark brown eyes grew warm. "Malfoy," she said, and then: "Can I call you Draco?"

They stared at each other for a moment and then Draco shrugged slightly. "Lavender does. Seamus does. Nott does. Even Neville does. Sure, Granger, call me Draco."

"Call me Hermione, please."

"All right, Hermione."

"My name is Lavender," said Lavender, leaning on her elbows and looking back and forth between them with a funny little smile. "In case anyone forgot."

"How could anyone ever forget you?" said Draco, grinning at her slightly.

"Don't know," sighed Lavender, sitting back and looking up at the ceiling dramatically. "Those poor people. I pity them. Do the same."

"Of course."

"How did you two... become friends?" asked Hermione tentatively.

"Coffee," said Lavender promptly.

"Coffee and work," clarified Draco. "We're both Healers in training."

"We go to the Brewery during our work break," said Lavender, and Hermione brightened instantly.

"I love the Brewery! Ginny and I - oh."

There was an awkward silence and then Hermione coughed slightly. "I... I'm glad we talked. I'm glad I could hear your side of it, Draco. I promise I won't tell anyone - and... and I think you're doing the right thing by only being Harry's friend. I wish things were different for you. And, Draco -"

"I'm not doing anything I might regret," said Draco, eyebrows pulling together. "So you don't have to warn me."

Her smile turned sad. "Be careful, will you?"

And then she slid out of the booth, threw some money on the table, said, "Thanks for the drink," and was gone.

Lavender and Draco both sat there for a moment, looking at each other. "Well that was interesting," Lavender finally said, pulling a drink towards her. "What do we do now?"

Draco shrugged. "Hell if I know."

Her expression turned sly. "We don't have work tomorrow, you know."

His lips turned up in a dry smile. "And?"

"Want to get smashed?"

"Darling," he said coolly, "you and I are of one mind. Cheers."

* * *

"Er," said Potter, reaching up to scratch his hair with a confused expression, two days later. "What exactly are we doing here again?"

"He's my cousin, Potter," said Draco, rolling his eyes as he leaned his lithe form against the ivy-covered house. "Is your memory failing you? Taken one too many spells to the head? As your Healer, I suggest you buck up and start paying more attention."

"I knew he was your cousin," said Potter and he sounded hesitant now, as if he didn't quite know what would insult Draco and what wouldn't. "I just didn't think you two saw a whole lot of each other."

"Blimey, where is she?" muttered Draco, wondering if he should knock again. He glanced at Potter, saw that the other man was still staring at him, and sighed. "My mother was quite interested in gaining Andromeda's forgiveness after the war. It was only natural that I get to know her as well - and, through her, Teddy. He's a brilliant little boy, you know," and dammit if his voice sounded just a tad bit proud over that fact.

"I know," said Potter, still looking bewildered. "But - why are _we_ here? I mean - when I said you could choose where we went this time, I didn't think..."

"Look, Potter," began Draco, completely frustrated, and then broke off as the door opened. He immediately beamed. "Aunt Andromeda! Miss me?" He stepped into the house without waiting for a greeting and swept his aunt up in a hug, breaking away from her only when he heard a bright seven year old's voice greeting Potter from behind him. He turned, a slight smile crossing his face as he saw a small figure with turquoise hair fling himself at Potter and cling with all his might.

"Er - hey, Teddy," said Potter, looking severely ruffled and highly amused. He looked at Draco over Teddy's hair and gave him a fake grimace before his attention switched over to the witch standing behind Draco. A smile dimpled his cheeks. "'Lo, Andromeda. Just ate lunch, did you?"

She smiled, eyes twinkling in a way that Bellatrix's never did. "You can tell? I promise I didn't spike his food with Pepper-Up, if that's what you're thinking. There's still tea in there, if you two want some."

"Love some," said Draco, watching as Potter finally extracted himself from Teddy. The boy bounced around Potter excitedly and his hair morphed from short turquoise to long, messy ebony, his eyes changing from brown to green so fast that for a moment they looked like a swirl of both. Draco was left looking at Potter and a Potter-miniature; he laughed despite himself. "Looks just like you, Potter."

It was then that Teddy took notice of Draco.

"COUSIN DRACO," he shouted and then the same exact scene passed, only this time it was Draco being tackled and Draco being surrounded by all that energy and Draco's appearance being mimicked. He watched with mild fascination as the dark locks retracted again, turning feathery thin and bleeding away until Teddy has a full head of blond hair. His eyes stayed green but his nose turned pointy and his chin sharpened and his skin turned a pristine pale. The end result was a rather odd mixture of the two, almost as if - well, probably what their child would be, if that was ever possible.

Except Teddy definitely had more of Draco's features than Potter's.

Draco smirked and then glanced over at Potter, his smirk disappearing instantly as he saw a ridiculously fond expression on Potter's face as the man watched them both. He turned his attention back to Teddy. "Been doing what I told you, yeah?"

"All the time!" said Teddy enthusiastically, reaching up to pat his hair as if to remind himself of what it currently looked like. "Wanna see the best one? Gran loves it, don't you, Gran?"

"Show him," said Andromeda, reaching up to push her graying hair out of her eyes.

"Okay, okay, hold on," said Teddy and he balled his little hands into fists and scrunched his expression up, nose wrinkling with concentration and eyes closing tightly shut. The blond hair stayed short but thickened slightly and melded into brown with gray streaks; his skin browned from Draco's pale complexion to something darker; his nose lost its pointy sharpness. The skin on his face almost seemed to ripple and then a scar bloomed into existence on his left cheek - and then under his mouth, and then on his forehead. When he opened his eyes, warm brown eyes peered out at the three adults and then he grinned widely. "I'm my dad, see?"

They all stood there for a moment and then Draco finally glanced at Potter who currently looked like he was breaking into pieces. Draco hurriedly sank into a crouch, taking Teddy's arm and pulling him so that his back was completely to Potter. "That's amazing, Ted - you _have_ been practising. When I first told you to mimic appearances, you could barely even get my hair right, yeah? Looked horrendous," he forced a grin and then his eyes flickered back to Potter who had now closed his eyes, his expression a grimace of pain.

"I do it off a picture," said Teddy, whose bright happiness had dimmed slightly into a soft solemnity. "When I do it in front of the picture, he... he and my mum both get really happy."

"I'm sure they do," said Draco quietly. His eyes scanned the little boy in front of him, over the gray streaks and the scars, and felt something melt inside him. "I'm sure they're very proud of you. You do even the scars?"

"Gran says there's nothing wrong with scars," said the boy, eyes flickering up for his grandmother's approval before he looked back at Draco. "Do you have any scars, Draco?"

"I have quite a lot of scars, actually," said Draco softly. His left arm started to itch; his chest began to sting. He wondered what Teddy would say if he could see the Fiendfyre burns that littered his calves. "Too many."

"I don't think you can ever have too many scars," said Teddy simply, reaching up to touch the raised line on his cheek. The boy twisted out of Draco's grasp to look back at Potter. "Uncle Harry? Don't you think it's neat?"

"It's incredible," said Potter, who had finally gotten himself under shaky control. "I love it. You look just like - like Remus." His voice broke over the last word and Draco straightened from his crouch, walking over to the other man and placing his hand on Potter's shoulder. Potter looked at him beseechingly. "You taught him how to do that?"

"I didn't teach him anything," said Draco quietly, gripping Potter tighter. "Just suggested he might be able to control his metamorphmagus better if he practised on people's entire appearance rather than individual features. Looks like he's doing well, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Potter in a strangled voice.

"And how are you doing, Potter?"

"I'm doing... okay," managed Potter.

"Good," said Draco, slapping Potter briskly on the back. He turned to Teddy, who was watching them both with a confused expression. "Now how's that broomstick I got you?"

"Amazing!" said Teddy, instantly growing excited. "I'm getting _really_ good - aren't I, Gran? Aren't I really good?"

"Very good," said Andromeda, lips twitching up in a smile. Her eyes looked moist but when she faced Draco and Potter, her back was straight and her chin was proud. "Now if you two boys think you can handle him, I think I might pop out for an errand or two - if that's all right?"

"Perfectly all right," said Potter. He seemed to gradually be gaining hold of emotions again and he cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "He's safe with us - maybe you'll show us a few of your flying moves?" he said, directing this last bit to Teddy who nodded enthusiastically.

"Perfect," said Andromeda. "The tea's on the stove; I shouldn't be gone too long. Try not to break anything," she said dryly and then she hugged Teddy, nodded at the other two, and was gone.

Blacks weren't too good with emotional situations, Draco mused.

Neither were Malfoys.

Nor Potters, apparently.

"Go get your broom," Draco told Teddy, who, at the mention of flying, had lost all grip of his metamorphmagus and was back to turquoise hair. "We'll meet you outside, okay?"

"Okay!" said Teddy brightly before zipping off.

Potter stared at him.

"What?"

"You're - you're so -" Potter shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?"

"How close you were to him. I never thought to ask; I never thought you would -"

"Potter," sighed Draco, glancing away. "When could you have possibly asked? When we were shagging? Afterwards? It's not like there was really an opportunity there to make small talk about my relationships with formerly estranged family members."

"I should have _made_ an opportunity," said Potter firmly. "I should have tried more, I should have asked about it all -" he reached out for Draco, his fingers just barely brushing against Draco's cheek before the former Slytherin took a step back.

"Don't," he said, gray eyes growing hard. "Don't make this relationship into your little project, Potter. Don't turn this into a _list of things_ you have to check off to make it work. That's not what this is."

"You're right; you're right - it's a friendship. That's it. Is this -" Suddenly Potter looked horrified. "Is this why you chose here to meet? Because you thought I would take advantage of you if we went somewhere else? Force myself on you? Lose control?"

"Potter, _no_," and Draco turned away, running a hand frustratedly through his hair. "I wanted to see Teddy. That's all. Not everything is about you, you know. Besides... I know you would never do that."

"Sometimes I lose control, Malfoy."

"Not with me," Draco said, turning back around. His eyes met Potter's and they stared at each other for a moment, something rippling through the air in between them. He felt as though everything they had ever been to each other was changing, morphing just like Teddy's hair - from black to white to brown with gray streaks.

"I did, though," whispered Potter with wide eyes. "Earlier. When he -"

"You regained self-control," interrupted Draco. "That's all that matters, Harry."

"It was so hard."

"Harry," said Draco, taking a step towards the other man. He moved forwards again without thinking and then lifted his hand up, sliding his fingers down Potter's cheek and watching as the other man's eyes fluttered shut. His breath caught in his chest and he felt as though he would do anything to give Harry back his control, he would do anything to take the fear out of Harry's eyes because -

"Cousin Draco?" came a faint voice that was coming nearer. "Uncle Harry?" They both froze and then a small figure tripped around the corner, wearing a mismatched set of shoulder pads and clutching a small broom. Draco jerked away; Potter shifted back. "You said you were coming?"

"Yeah," said Potter, abruptly smiling easily as if he'd been nothing but calm the entire time Teddy was away. Draco's stomach clenched hard. "Coming, Draco?"

They both looked at each other, and then Draco nodded, unable to speak, and Teddy took off again, Potter ambling behind him and Draco slowly trailing behind further still. What the hell had he been doing? Potter had clearly been about to lose control - and so it was natural for Draco to want to comfort him, right? He was a Healer. It was in a Healer's nature to take care of others.

It was not, however, in a Healer's nature to want to snog their patients.

So that was bad.

Once outside, Draco made sure to pointedly keep his eyes off Potter as they both helped Teddy get the rest of his protection gear on and then re-taught him how to get off the ground. He was only seven, after all; it was rather remarkable that he hadn't fallen and broken a leg, at this point. His hair fluctuated madly with his excitement, ranging from his apparently base colour of turquoise to bright blue to a dark purple when he started getting frustrated.

"I want to fly _now_," he complained, watching with arms crossed and expression dark as Potter held the broom up and narrowed his eyes at it. Teddy turned to Draco. "What's he doing, anyhow?"

"Testing to see if it's cursed," said Draco with a reluctantly amused voice. It _was_ funny, how much Teddy's angry expression mimicked Potter's when he was upset. Rather or not Potter wanted it, he was the main figure in Teddy's life and it showed. "He's had a rather bad history with brooms."

"Yeah, and it all started with a blond prick who couldn't keep his hands off other people's Remembralls," said Potter with a dry twist to his lips. He seemed to be in a significantly better mood than he'd been in all day, which made Draco both wary and... well, mainly wary.

"Oi," said Draco loftily, lifting his nose in the air. Wary or not, there was always room for a good superiority complex. "If I recall correctly, I'm the sole reason for your place on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. So, you're _welcome_."

"Thanks," said Potter brightly. Then, in an undertone too low for Teddy to hear, "For being a self-righteous twat."

Draco waited until Teddy had bent down to tie his shoelace to flip Potter the bird. Potter grinned back and for a moment it was if the moment in the house had never happened - but then Teddy stood back up and Potter's grin wavered and everything settled back into place.

"Come on then," said Potter to Teddy, holding out the broomstick as if it were a peace offering. The little boy yelped and rushed over, grabbing it out of Potter's hands and clinging onto it tightly.

"I can fly now?" he asked eagerly. "Please, please, please?"

"Don't go too high," warned Potter.

"Don't listen to Harry," warned Draco, and then Teddy was off.

They stood side by side like that for a moment, both of them simply watching the boy fly in peace before, slowly, the moment from inside began creeping between them like a foul wind - and then Potter cleared his throat. "He flies well."

"He's brilliant," said Draco, unable to keep the fond tone from leaking into his voice.

Potter turned to him abruptly, green eyes feverish. "Draco -"

"Potter, please don't," said Draco wearily.

"- I don't want to have kids."

They faced each other for a second and then: "Oh," said Draco. "Well. Didn't see that one coming. Why don't you want to have kids?"

"I - I can barely be a good dad-like-figure," ("_Role model,_" corrected Draco) "for Teddy and - and I'm barely even that. I never take time to see him; I never buy him special presents. If I have a worse relationship with my godson than he does with a complete stranger -"

"Oi!" said Draco, outraged. "I'm his _cousin_."

"You're missing the _point_," said Potter, burying his face in his hands. "I'm not there for him - I haven't taught him anything - I'm completely rotten with children!" He pulled his head up, looking wild. "I don't even like them that much! They're - they're loud and they cry a lot and when I held Teddy as a baby, I thought I was about to drop him. And you've got to feed them and bathe them and make sure they're breathing right - how the hell can I be a dad when I can't even take care of_ myself_?"

Draco stared at him. "Okay," he said slowly. "I'm getting the idea that you might not want to have kids. You don't have to have kids, Potter, you know that right?"

Potter looked weak. "Ginny wants some."

"Oh," said Draco. Then: "Oh. Well."

"You'd be a great father," said Potter, turning away from Draco slightly to follow Teddy's erratic flying path. "The thing with the metamorphmagus - I would have never thought of that."

Draco sighed. "You're being melodramatic."

"I'm not," sulked Potter.

"You are. If you're not ready, tell her you're not ready. She'll understand. She... loves you," and Draco didn't really know if she did or not but how could she not love this beautiful flawed man standing before Draco? He was out of control and burning everything before him but how could she not be drawn into those bright, bright flames? He wanted to soak up Potter's warmth for all eternity, he wanted -

"It's not that I'm not ready now. It's that I don't think I'll be ready _ever_. How can we be so completely different on such fundamental things? Like - children?" asked Potter, shaking his head and looking exhausted. "Every married couple agrees on children. It's basics 101. You want them or you don't. And she doesn't even know I don't want them. What kind of relationship is that, Malfoy?"

Draco simply stood there, unable to say anything.

Potter looked back at Teddy, who was busy flying after a butterfly. "I married her because it was the right thing to do at the time. I was out of Hogwarts, and Ron and Hermione were together - and this was my dream. This was what got me through the war. Her and the idea of marrying her. And I loved her, you know? But I don't want kids, and she does, and what else does she want? I don't even fucking know," he finished desperately. "I don't have a single clue."

"Harry," said Draco quietly.

"I mean," continued Potter suddenly, "when I look at Ron and Hermione, I still see _Ron and Hermione._ I see them together forever, with Rosie and maybe another one and - when I think about Ginny and I - I don't see anything. And I _should_ see something. But it's like - something's blocking the way. The same thing that's blocking me from moving on from these goddamn flashbacks."

Draco stayed quiet.

"So I don't want kids," said Potter. "And she does. What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," answered Draco, even though he knew without a doubt what he wanted to tell Potter to do. He dug his nails into his palms, embracing the slight pain in his hands. "I think you're supposed to figure it out on your own, Potter. Without me."

"But I don't want to," said Potter petulantly.

Something inside of Draco snapped. He whirled on Potter, gray eyes flashing. "What more do you _want_ from me, Potter? I'm trying my _best_ - I'm giving _everything_ - and it's still not fucking enough for you!"

"I'm sorry," said Potter hurriedly, looking ashamed. "I'm so sorry - I shouldn't be complaining - you have your problems too, I know -"

"You do?" asked Draco, startled. Potter had never admitted that before. He felt dizzy. "I mean - good. Because I do." He straightened, glaring. "And now, if you'll _excuse_ me, I'm going to watch my fucking cousin play on his stupid bloody broomstick that I bought with him with my pathetic Healer's salary - and -"

He stopped as a hand caught hold of his, fingers intertwining with his and clutching his tightly. Potter's hand was warm and callused, hard and rough against his. "He won't notice," Potter said quietly, eyes dark. "Please?"

Draco pressed his lips together and then turned, allowing Potter to hold his hand as they stood there in Andromeda's yard and watched Teddy fly all over the sky, whooping and yelling and changing his hair colour from black to white to brown with gray streaks.

* * *

The silence in the room thickened and spread throughout the room like a heavy fog, stilling all movements and adding a tense tightness to everyone's posture. Draco remained frozen in the middle of trainees, gray eyes wide and shoulders hunched slightly, as though waiting for a sharp blow. The Head Healer blinked long and slow, his actions just as precise as ever, and unhurriedly glanced back and forth between Draco and the patient.

"Well," said Healer Chambers in his deep, somber voice. His lips finally tugged down into a slight frown; his thick, white eyebrows drew together over hooded eyes. Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath for him as he looked about pensively for a moment before he seemed to finally approach a conclusion. "Malfoy, take your things and go."

"Sir," said Draco in an astonished voice, his stomach clenching hard and his heart - which had already been pounding - speeding up further. He was going to be sick, he was going to throw up, he was going to explode explode _explode_. "Sir, you can't -"

"Can't I?" said Chambers, and for the first time something glinted in his eyes that showed just how aware of the situation he really was. It was a flash and then it was gone - and it looked suspiciously like pity. "Miss Brown, please escort Mr. Malfoy out of the room."

"Let it be known that Priscilla Taylor does not cater with Death Eaters," said the patient smugly, an elderly witch with a shock of white hair. Draco wanted to push her off the high examination bed, wanted to curse that stupid fucking smirk right off her ugly bat face. He wanted to scream and fight and yell that he wasn't a Death Eater, that she understood _nothing_ - but instead he just stood there, expression hard, eyes furious as he stared at her.

She stared back, wispy eyebrows raised. "Did - you - hear - that?" she asked loudly, each word slow as if he were a small child who couldn't understand. "He - wants - you - to - _go. _Go, scum!"

"Draco," whispered a voice at his side. "Draco, come on."

He jerked his head towards Chambers, face a pale white. "I am not a Death Eater," he said in a low voice, body held like stone and voice like ice. "I was cleared of all claims. August 24th, 1998. Ask anyone. Ask Harry Potter. He's the one who testified on my behalf."

"Malfoy, leave," said Chambers in his gravelly voice, moving slowly to step in between Draco and the self-righteous witch on the bed.

He felt a hand on his elbow, gently pulling him back, and he immediately jerked out of Lavender's grasp, shooting Chambers and Priscilla Taylor a filthy look before turning and stalking out, green robes flaring out behind him. His hand closed around the doorknob just as a reedy female voice called, "And don't let me catch sight of that _mongrel's _face again!" He stopped, hand clenching hard around the handle, and then he snapped it open, letting it slam into the wall behind it and storming out.

Draco burned. His insides melted in a puddle of fury; his face heated up with the dark red of mortification. Was everyone staring at him? It felt as though everyone were staring at him, judging him, and he'd show them all, really he would, he was better than this, he _was._

"Draco!"

His steps quickened, his shoes hitting the ground sharply and then leaving the ground again almost instantly, each step smashing into her face again and again - _stupid bitch, I'm just as good as any of them, I'm better than all of them, stupid fucking - _he walked faster, his hands clenched into fists.

"Draco - Draco, please!" came Lavender's voice, gradually growing louder as she ran after him. "Slow down!"

"Fuck off!" he snarled over his shoulder as he rounded a corner and then abruptly hit a dead end, stopping and then whirling around just as she skidded to a halt in front of him. He took a step back from her, feeling wild and uncontained. His features twisted into something disgusted and resentful. "I'm out of the room, so you don't have to escort me anywhere else - unless you think I'm a Death Eater too? That I'm _dangerous_?"

"Of course not, Draco," said Lavender, looking bewildered and frightened. Her scars stood out starkly with the glare of the hospital light shining on them and her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Scars everywhere; they overwhelmed the left side of her face. "I would never -"

"Because I am, you know," he continued loudly, heedless of her words. "Worthless. Dangerous. I'm never going to pass Basic Training. You know it - I know it - Chambers knows it. I should just drop out now, should just save everyone the fucking trouble -"

"_Draco_," said Lavender, and now she glared at him, crossing her arms. "Stop that. Right now. You know you're not worthless - you know you're one of the best in the whole damn class. It's not my fault she was so horrible to you -"

"She refused to be seen by me," said Draco, beginning to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, long legs striding over the linoleum with an angry, reckless energy. "She refused to even be in the same _room_ as me. And even if I pass, even if I'm good enough -"

"Which you _are_," interjected Lavender.

" - how many other people like her are out there? How many times will I be turned away because of my past - because of the thoughtless, terrified mistakes I made when I was sixteen?" He gripped his hair with both hands and then stopped his frantic pacing, staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. "I'm not going to make it. I'm not going to make it. Nobody will hire me."

"Draco," said Lavender in a quiet voice. "Please stop this. I - I don't know how to convince you that you're good enough, but -"

"But why do you think that?" Draco interrupted, snapping his head around to stare intently at her. She froze at the eye contact and then dropped her gaze to the ground, reaching up almost instinctively to rub her scars. "Lavender?"

"You... changed," she finally said. "We're friends. Bad people don't change, you know? They don't learn from their mistakes; they don't say sorry. Do you think I'm the same person I was when I was at Hogwarts? Do you think any of us are? That none of us have regrets? Because we do. I do. Plenty."

Draco swallowed. "Lavender, she didn't want me."

That seemed to spark something in Lavender. She glanced up, eyes hard and mouth a thin line. "Draco Malfoy, stop right now and think long and hard: who really gives a _shit_? There are people out there that won't like you - there are people that are going look at you and see the tattoo on your arm and never speak to you and probably hate you for it, yeah. But those people are_ assholes_. Those are the same people that won't talk to me because of my scars and won't listen to Hermione's views because she's a Muggleborn." Her expression was fierce, a warrior's expression, a fighter's face. Draco shrank before it.

"But I -" he began, flustered and ashamed and small, so small.

Lavender scowled. "I _know_ you used to be like that, okay? But that's the whole point - you're different! You're different than how you were raised and do you know how fucking difficult that is, to turn away from everything your parents taught you? So stop listening to what those complete bastards have to say about you. Because there are people right in front of you that care about you - like me, like Neville, like Theo and Blaise and Seamus. Who needs that bitch? And you said it yourself - Harry Potter thinks you're worth it."

"Potter thinks everyone's worth it," said Draco, looking away and feeling his face heat up again as he remembered those callused fingers entangled with his. "Potter would have done that for anyone he thought needed saving."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't owl _me_ every day," said Lavender, lifting her eyebrows with a pointed look. "Doesn't ask _me_ to do things with him. How many times have you seen him since that thing with Teddy a week ago?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Three times - but twice it was just for lunch and yesterday was just because he needed help with a Potion he had to identify for a case -"

"And do you really think he couldn't get anyone else to help him?" she asked, crossing her arms. "He's Harry Potter, and you really think that there was no one else in his department that could have identified it? That it _had_ to be you?"

Draco hadn't thought of that. He frowned. "Well - it's nothing romantic, if that's what you're thinking -"

"Exactly!" huffed Lavender as if she had just made a point that he was missing. "The problem beforehand was that he never wanted to see you but for a shag, right? Except it's been _weeks _since you refused to do that and he still wants to see you - which means...?"

He stared at her blankly, uncomprehending.

"Oh, Draco," she sighed, shaking her head. "That he wants to be with you. Not to relieve stress, not to have a random screw - because, honestly, he could do that with anyone. But does he? No. Because he wants _you_. Because you're smart and witty, Draco, because you've changed so much and you've become so much," and now she stared at him earnestly, hands balled into fists and complexion growing flushed. "And if you think that one witch's opinion creates who you are, then you're an idiot because don't you see how you are so much _more_ than your mistakes?"

"But he still hasn't left Ginny," said Draco in a small voice and he wanted to believe her so much but it felt as though there were something blocking him, something holding back, something whispering _failure failure failure_ in time with his heartbeat, and Potter still hadn't left Ginny. As much as he wanted to believe what she was saying - Potter still had his wife. And he always would. And people like Priscilla Taylor would always reject him.

Lavender seemed to wilt before him, her eyes growing soft and shoulders dropping slightly. "No. He hasn't. But that's not what this is about, is it? This isn't about you marrying Harry Potter and ending up happily ever - this is about you moving on from what happened eight years ago. This is about you, Draco, realising you are worth so much more than what life has dealt you."

* * *

It happened like this:

"Can I come over to your place?" asked Potter five days after the hospital incident as they sat on a bench and ate chips. He had sauce on his chin and his hair was just as messy as ever; the strong, beautiful man from that day in St. Mungo's, the man who had intimidated Draco so much - he was gone. Oh, Potter was still strong, still beautiful, but now he was accessible as well. His flaws were just as prominent as Draco's, just as horrible, and yet somehow that only served to make Potter more dangerous.

Draco turned away before the urge to lean in and lick the sauce off Potter's chin grew to be too much. "Why would you want to?"

"Because I'm tired of the park," said Potter. "And I'm tired of eating dinner at faraway Muggle pubs where no one can see us, and since you refuse to let me to come to the Brewery with you, I figure, why not? Friends go to each others houses all the time." He sounded stubborn and just a little bit hopeful.

It was completely infuriating.

"I don't _refuse _to let you come to the Brewery," said Draco, giving the man a sideways frown. "You just... are never available when we meet."

"Liar," said Potter, and he should have sounded angry or at the very least irritated - but instead he sounded rather ridiculously fond, as though this were practically an inside joke between them. Fighting a shiver, Draco looked away again. "I've been talking to Neville, you know. He sounded surprised that I even knew about it - do you never talk about me with them?"

(Was that jealousy hanging in Potter's voice? Insecurity? Draco shook it off.)

"People don't really know that we're... friends, Potter. They don't know - you know, about us."

"Why not?"

Draco gave him an incredulous look.

"What?" frowned Potter. "We're not - I'm mean, _that's _over with. Do we really have to hide our friendship?"

"You're the one who wanted to hide all of this in the first place, Potter. I just thought we were still following the same rules."

Potter looked away. "Are you ashamed of me?"

"Potter," said Draco quietly. His hands gripped the edge of the bench, the wood digging into his palms. "If people know we're friends, then they might start to suspect it used to be more. Do you want everyone to know what happened between us? Because that's the sort of thing that usually destroys marriages." His voice grew hard, a sneer curling his lips. "In case you weren't aware of that. In case you thought your reality was somehow more special than everyone else's because you're the Boy Who Lived."

Potter was silent.

After a moment, Draco said sullenly, "I don't really show my flat to people. It's not something I just volunteer for people to see."

Potter glanced at him. "Why not? Are you..."

Draco huffed. "Stop that. You're doing it again."

Potter frowned. "Doing what? I'm not doing anything."

"You're making that bloody face."

"What are you talking about?"

"That face. That fucking face you make when something isn't going your way so you decide to pout until it does," and Draco crossed his arms firmly against his chest, angrily refusing to give in.

"I don't make a face," said Potter, making the face.

"You're doing it right now! Maybe my flat is really messy. Maybe I just don't think it's a good idea."

"Draco," said Potter, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. "We don't have to go there if you don't want to. It was just a suggestion. We can forget it - look, spending time with you is what I really want, no matter where we are or what we do. Please don't think I take this for granted."

Draco stared at the other man, who was currently staring fixedly at some point in the distance. What the hell? He narrowed his eyes, wanting to kill Potter and hate him and love him and kiss him all at once and why did he have to make everything so _difficult_? He was torn between feeling in love with Potter and feeling _stuck _with Potter. "All right," he finally growled. "You can come over to my fucking flat, if that's what you really want."

Potter turned to him, green eyes a murky pool of hope and surprise. A wide smile turned up his lips. "You don't have to show me your flat if you don't want to, Malfoy."

Draco scowled and got to his feet. "Stop being an arsehole and fucking hold onto my arm. Also, you have sauce on your face, and it looks ridiculous."

Potter stood, sheepishly rubbing his hand against his chin and then reaching out to tuck his arm into Draco's, pulling Draco close to him. "Give me some warning before you -"

And then they Disapparated.

A moment later, Potter lurched back into existence and tripped over a coffee table, landing hard on his backside. "Fuck!"

Draco cackled. "You were saying?"

"Ow," whined Potter, reaching back to rub his side. "You prick. That hurt. Is this table _really_ necessary?" He got to his feet, glaring at said coffee table, and then glanced around. His expression morphed from disgruntled to surprised almost instantly, and he glanced back down at the coffee table. "Oh. Okay."

Draco rolled his eyes, wondering if Potter was about to say something completely unnecessary and stupid. "What?"

"It's just... different than I expected," said Potter slowly, and now he swiveled on the spot, his lips pursed slightly in a thoughtful way. "Very... sparse. Turns out the table is very necessary after all."

Draco snorted. "Is that the Gryffindor way of saying I'm completely fucking broke?"

Potter's lips twisted a little like he was trying not to smile. "Maybe."

"Twat," said Draco. "Maybe this is just my manner of decor - maybe I don't like rubbish all over the place, cluttering everything up. I bet you do. I bet your house is a right pigsty. Disgusting. Just like your hair."

"Malfoy..." said Potter, slowly shaking his head, and he once again glanced around the room. "You have a coffee table, a chair, and one lamp in the entire room. You have three things in here. Three. Your manner of decor is apparently shit."

"This isn't the only room I have," said Draco indignantly, and he felt himself grow slightly red, wondering when he'd become so utterly pathetic. "I have more. This is just my least favourite room, that's all."

"Let's see it then."

Draco took him into the kitchen (a table, three chairs, a loudly gurgling refrigerator), the living room (a small bookshelf overloaded with books, a mismatched rug, a loveseat, two lamps), the bathroom (two worn towels, a broken bar of soap, cheap razor), and utterly refused to let Potter into his bedroom.

"Trainees don't get paid very much," he said defensively as they finally ended the tour before the front door.

"Don't I know it," said Potter.

"And part of the Malfoy sentence was paying for reparations of the war," added Draco, crossing his arms and glaring at Potter for good measure.

"I see," said Potter, nodding.

"So I barely have any furniture," scowled Draco now, wanting to hit that patient look off Potter's face as hard as he could. "So what?"

"So nothing," said Potter amicably. "Who needs furniture anyway?"

Draco gave it up as a bad job and stormed off to the kitchen, deciding he would make tea instead of standing there and trying to win an unwinnable argument with the goddamn Gryffindor. Bloody Potter and that bloody smile of his.

"What - no House Elves?" asked Potter as he trailed behind Draco, his fingers drifting along on every surface as though trying to memorise Draco's pitiful amount of furniture by touch alone.

Draco grunted. "All taken with the reparations. I think that was part of Granger's contribution, actually, so you can have her to thank if your tea is shit. Also, the biscuits. Actually - not the biscuits at all because I bought those from the grocery store at half price and they're quite delicious, so you'd better enjoy them."

Potter smirked. He sat down in one of the rickety wooden chairs. "So being good at Potions suddenly doesn't equal being good at everything else in the world? When did _that _happen? Do tell."

"Fuck you," scowled Draco, the pride over his biscuits disappearing in a flush. He thought about slamming the kettle down on the stove angrily to prove his point, weighing just how much impact that would have on Potter, and instead simply sulked some more, setting it down as gingerly as possible and using his wand to turn up the heat. Finally, with no excuse to avoid Potter's gaze any longer, he turned around and leaned back against the counter, gray eyes abruptly wary. "Well?"

Potter smiled, goddamn gorgeous green eyes crinkling in the corners. "Well what?"

"You know."

"Are you asking me what I think of your flat, Malfoy? Because I think it's quite lovely."

"Are you lying to me?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

"I don't know," said Draco, looking the other way. "Plenty of reasons."

There was a scrape as Potter's chair pressed against the floor and then suddenly he was standing directly in front of Draco, tall body all lean and hard and radiating heat against Draco's. Gray eyes flickered to meet green and they stared at each other for a moment until Potter reached out to touch Draco's left hand; Draco flinched away.

"Stop," said Potter softly, and then: "Please?"

Draco pressed his lips together tightly before jerking his head in sharp affirmative.

Long fingers tentatively brushed against his, turning his palm over and pressing lightly into the lines on Draco's hand, drifting down Draco's hand as though forgetting their purpose. They paused there for a moment and then skimmed up to his wrist lazily, those callused fingers sending a budding warmth into Draco's stomach as they creeped up, slowly, languidly. The Slytherin's eyes dropped to half-mast, entranced at the feeling of Potter's fingers on his skin, so tauntingly gentle. And then those same fingers abruptly wrapped around his wrist, tightening as another hand came to push up Draco's sleeve - and Potter jerked Draco's arm up and out, baring the Dark Mark to the harsh kitchen light.

"What are you - stop," said Draco, suddenly realising just what Potter was aiming for, and struggled to get away. He felt vulnerable, tricked. His back hit the cabinets and he made a noise in the back of his throat, tugging at the arm which Potter kept captive with hard fingers.

"Stop," breathed Potter, and Draco did, eyes wide and frightened. "Stop fighting me. Draco," and he leaned forward, nose brushing against Draco's forearm until his hot breath was directly over the faded Dark Mark. His tongue flicked out, tasting - oh, Merlin, _tasting_ the Dark Mark, and then Potter kissed it, and maybe Draco should have found that strange but instead he found it alluring, instead he found himself pressing hard against the kitchen cabinets and gasping. Potter lifted his head up, tongue once more swiping against Draco's forearm as though he couldn't stop himself, and then he looked up at Draco with pupil-blown eyes. "Don't let ever let that make you think I'd treat you any differently than anyone else, Draco."

Draco whimpered before he could stop himself, his blood made of flames and his heart pounding in his ears. "There might be other reasons than just that."

"You think I'd lie to you because of how much furniture you have? Because of how many friends you have or, fuck, Draco, I don't know," said Potter, and he sounded angry and desperate and was that yearning in his voice? "I would _never_ lie to you."

"Please don't say that," said Draco, closing his eyes. "It'll just hurt more when you do."

"Never," said Potter fiercely.

Draco opened his eyes and Potter was standing so close, his fingers still tight around Draco's wrist, the Dark Mark still wet with Potter's open-mouth kiss. Everything about them slowed, everything stilled, everything turned into molten lava and molasses in February and a mountain slowly being eroded away into nothing. Years and years passed where they simply stood next to each other in Draco's pitiful kitchen, Draco pressed against the cabinets and Potter leaning in and tilting his head and closer, _closer_, he wanted all of Potter, all of him, but especially those lips, those lips that had so precisely touched the Dark Mark only a moment before.

And Draco had never wanted him more in that moment. A physical ache seemed to permeate throughout his entire body, starting in his stomach and building, until -

"Want to go see my bedroom?" blurted out Draco.

Potter froze, blinking, and then withdrew slightly and smiled. "Yes. I would. Very much so."

Draco narrowed his eyes, knowing just what Potter was thinking, and then wiggled out from between the cabinets and Potter, straightening his posture and walking proudly through the poorly decorated flat towards the very back where his room was located. He paused at the door, waiting for Potter to catch up, and then cleared his throat and turned the knob, pushing the door open and standing aside so that Potter could enter.

"It's very -" began Potter automatically as he stepped inside, eyes on the simple bed in the middle of the room - and then suddenly he glanced at the walls and froze, the niceties on his tongue fading away. "Malfoy," he said, astonished.

A small smile appeared on Draco's face. "What?"

"It's..." Potter slowly turned, eyes roaming the artwork covering every spare inch of the room. There were oil paintings and charcoal drawings; metal sculptures coming alive from the wall and still pictures of people in love. "But - when you said amateur, I thought..."

"You thought that meant it was bad," said Draco, crossing his arms against his chest as he watched Potter move, transfixed, from one piece to the next. "I chose art for my collection very carefully, I'll have you know - according to how much I like it and how much the artist needs the money."

Potter's hand reached up to brush against a grainy black and white picture of a couple in a bed, curled around each other. "It's not moving," he said, wonder still alive in his voice. "Is it - Muggle?"

"I know this is going to come as a shock to you, Potter, but Muggles actually make artwork too. Astounding, isn't it?"

Potter glanced at him, not even bothering to try and look annoyed with Draco's sarcasm. "But - but then this is -"

Draco frowned. "Are you all right?"

"This is why you don't have any furniture!" burst out Potter excitedly. "Because you spend so much money on artwork!"

"Oi, I have _some _furniture," said Draco crossly. "Not too much, but then, it's only me living here, so..."

"But this is amazing!" exclaimed Potter, striding away from Draco and throwing his hands up as if to embrace the room they were in. Every corner was filled, a beautiful mixture of emotion and colour until the room was overflowing with. "You're amazing, Draco Malfoy," said Potter, turning back towards Draco with an enraptured expression.

Draco frowned. "Stop that."

"No," said Potter, coming back towards him. "No, you were right. Earlier. About how I didn't know anything about you. You were so bloody right, and I'm sorry."

"Potter," began Draco dismissively.

"Please call me Harry," said Potter.

"It's just artwork. Loads of people have art hanging in their bedroom."

"Not like this," said Potter in a firm voice. He had calmed down but he looked just as determined, as if he wanted nothing more than to convince Draco of his awe. "Nothing like this."

Distantly, Draco heard the kettle start to shrilly whistle. "Tea's ready."

Potter glanced quickly at his watch and opened his mouth - and then again looked at his watch, his expression crumbling slightly.

"Let me guess," said Draco, turning away and pressing a hand against his tired eyes. "You need to go home."

"Ginny," said Potter weakly.

Ginny. The everlasting roadblock between them, standing in their way, the reason they were what they were - and Draco hated her so damn _much, _and he understood her even _more_. How couldn't he? In wanting Draco, Potter chose him over her - and in staying with Ginny, Potter chose her over him. In the end, neither one of them had him, and so she was left with a broken marriage and Draco was left sympathizing with the wife of the man he loved, and sometimes life was nothing but complete shit.

"Just go."

"I -"

Draco glanced at him and for a moment he thought Potter was going to protest, wondered if maybe this would be when Potter decided to leave Ginny once and for all - and his heart lifted and his stomach soared and he watched as Potter struggled to find something for longer and longer -

"I'll be back," promised Potter quickly. "We'll see each soon, yeah? Next time, we can do whatever you want. Anything you want, I promise."

"Yeah," said Draco, quickly hiding his disappointment. "That's fine. Completely fine."

* * *

"So this is it," said Potter, staring up at the small building in front of them. "The place everyone seems to know about, except me."

"You could have just asked your wife to take you here, you know," said Draco pointedly, crossing his arms uncomfortably against his chest. "She knows about it too. So does Granger."

Potter didn't seem to even notice the bait. "I wanted to come with you. I wanted to see what you and your friends talked about."

"Well, here we are," said Draco gruffly. "Might as well get this over with. Come on then."

It had been ten days since they'd been inside Draco's bedroom and just how was Draco supposed to feel? Everything about that day, Potter kissing the Dark Mark, Potter staring in wonder at all the artwork in Draco's haven, Potter accepting everything about Draco; how was Draco supposed to react after that? He'd thought he was in love with Potter, so many months ago, and then he realised he didn't have the slightest clue what love was - and now here Potter was, drawing him in once again. They just couldn't fucking escape each other, could they?

So now here they were, both walking into the Brewery together, the first time they were together in front of other wizards. And Draco hated it. And Draco loved it.

"Malfoy!" crowed Seamus as soon as he spotted Draco. "Come over here, we think we've gotten it, don't we, Nott -"

"This is it," said Nott, dark eyes glimmering with excitement. "We're about to become rich, so fucking rich, and none of you will get any of it -"

"They don't know what they're talking about," interrupted Neville. "Don't go anywhere near it."

"It's delicious," confirmed Blaise, who had somehow joined in on their Thursday lunch ritual without anyone noticing.

"Glass," Lavender said, shaking her head. "One of them had _glass_ - oh, hello, Harry."

Everyone all paused, noticing for the first time the dark-haired man standing behind Draco, and then, one-by-one, every gaze slid curiously over to Draco. Pressing his lips together, Draco drew upon every ounce of Pureblood protocol he'd been born with and willed himself not to flush. "So... Potter wanted to see what the fuss was all about."

"Hello," said Potter, grinning about. "What's this about you guys making something new?"

"No," muttered Draco, covering his eyes. "I am not a part of this." Moving, he took his usual seat next to Lavender and Neville, wincing as both Theo, Blaise, and Seamus all sprung up to go get their latest creation for Potter.

"So... you and Potter are friends then?" asked Neville with raised eyebrows.

Draco pursed his lips.

Lavender snickered.

"And why do you not seem surprised by any of this?" demanded Neville, glancing between Lavender and Draco with a narrowed-eyed gaze. "Have you two been cozying up behind my back?"

"Well, we do work together," said Draco. "I see her a lot more often."

"Also, just because I laughed doesn't mean I know anything," said Lavender, looking unhelpfully suspicious. "I just happen to think them being friends is funny. Oh, and this is yours, I forgot," and she pushed a cup of black coffee in Draco's direction, having already ordered for him.

"Why is it funny that they're friends?" Neville looked confused.

"Uh... because..."

"Just stop," sighed Draco, accepting his coffee as was his ritual.

"This is DELICIOUS," came Potter's voice from behind the counter and there was a smattering of excited clapping from the other three blokes who were surrounding him. "Holy shit, my mouth is having a party!"

There was a slight pause as Lavender, Draco, and Neville all stared at each other and then, as one, they all turned to stare with utter disbelief at the crowd behind the counter. "No," said Lavender. "Not him too."

"I think..." said Neville, slowly starting to rise.

"Not you as well!" said Lavender, slamming down her cup. "This is an outbreak!"

"A disease," agreed Draco.

"Just one bite," said Neville and hurried away.

Draco and Lavender stared at each other.

"We're the only sane ones left," she said.

"Yes," he agreed.

They stared at each other some more before: "So."

Draco looked away. "I don't know how it happened, okay? He just really wanted to come here and I... I'm not really sure. I thought I never wanted to see him again because he only used me for sex - and he did. But then we started talking outside of sex and now... Shit, now I don't have any idea what I want or who I am or anything. And he just keeps fucking confusing me and..." He looked over at where they were all now presenting Neville with the latest muffin. Potter was grinning, and then suddenly he looked over and caught Draco's eyes - his eyes softening just the slightest amount as he mouthed, _"It's so good,"_ in Draco's direction.

"I just don't know how he feels about me any more," finished Draco lamely.

"Six months ago he would have never come out with you in public," pointed out Lavender.

"I know."

"He would have never spent time with you at all, actually," she corrected herself. "And now look. Things have changed so much."

"Have they really?"

She gave him a shrewd glance. "I guess that's up for you to decide."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged and twisted her cup of coffee back and forth between delicately long fingers. "If you think things are changing, then stay with him. If it's not enough... maybe you really do need to finally move on. Because you tried to move on before and you didn't, did you? Not really."

Draco once again looked sideways at Potter, a cloud falling over his face. "I hate not knowing what to do."

"Draco, you brought him here. To the Brewery. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

He squinted at her.

She sighed. "I mean, what does this place really mean to you? Look at it. It's where we all forgot what complete pricks we were at Hogwarts and became... you know. A group. A group of Slytherins and Gryffindors and Blaise, who is something I can't even begin to fathom. Don't you think this place is kind of special?"

Without hesitation: "Of course it is." And then: "Oh. You think... what?" Merlin, he was being thick today. Or maybe Lavender was just being extra wise and mysterious. She did have a habit of saying things that needed extra explanation, something she seemed to have picked up from Trelawney somewhere down the line.

"I don't know. You're bringing Harry to places where you're not the Malfoy everyone knew from school - you've changed, he's changed, maybe you've changed in ways that work together?"

"MALFOY, YOU MUST EAT," shouted Seamus, plopping down in front of Draco with an excited expression, shoving a muffin in front of him and then waiting for his reaction eagerly. Everyone else fell back into their usual seats, Potter grabbing one from another table and dragging it up next to Draco's.

"Was it actually good?" said Draco, turning towards Potter with a distasteful expression. "You don't know them like I do. They have made some truly repugnant discoveries; I'm pretty sure they ruined muffins for all eternity."

"This will redeem them," promised Potter.

"Ugh," said Draco, and maybe it was because Seamus and Nott were looking at him like he was the only opinion they truly cared about, maybe it was because Potter just looked so damn pleased to be around Draco in public, maybe it was because everything deserved a chance to be redeemed, even the worst muffin makers in the entire world - and, despite his reserves, he picked up the muffin and took the smallest bite he possibly could.

"Holy shit," said Draco.

"Told you so," grinned Potter.

"This is the best muffin I've ever had," said Draco.

"We're going to be rich!" crowed Seamus, high-fiving Nott and then being bear hugged by Blaise.

"Oh, fine," huffed Lavender, holding a hand out, "Let me try the damn muffin."

In the chaos of Nott, Blaise, and Seamus cheering, Lavender reluctantly trying to the muffin ("_Fuck_, this is good,"), and Neville laughing at Lavender, Potter leaned in, placing his lips right at Draco's ear. "Thanks for bringing me here."

"No problem," said Draco under his breath, avoiding Potter's gaze.

"Are you okay?"

"We're going to get more coffee," said Draco to the table at hand and then nodded to Potter, standing up and feeling Potter follow him as he headed towards the back. The shop was technically closed at the moment for Seamus' break, as he basically was allowed to do whatever he wanted with the shop, and they were met with silence as they entered the kitchens. Draco paused and turned around to look at Potter, both of them now silent.

"Is there -"

"Just listen," interrupted Draco. "Because there's something I have to say."

"Okay," said Potter warily.

"We're not a couple."

Potter stared at him.

"We're not. And we won't ever be. I'm going to move on, Potter, and I'm going to end up with someone else. I'm going to be happy with who I am and who I'm with and I'm going to be one damn successful Healer, okay? No, not okay. I'm not asking for your permission, I'm just going to _do it_."

Potter opened his mouth and then closed it, once, twice, three times. Finally he nodded. "I want you to be happy, Draco."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Good."

"I don't want to hold you back from doing anything that you want to."

"Right."

"Does this mean... we can't -"

"We can be whatever you want us to be," interrupted Draco once again. "But please hurry up. Things are changing, Potter, and you have to change with them or you're going to be left behind."

"I understand," said Potter quietly.

"Do you?"

And maybe Potter did because with a slow, slow smile and a spark of something hot in his eyes, he tilted his head at Draco and said, "Why, of course. We're all just goddamn muffins, aren't we?"

And with a start, Draco realised that, yes, they really were.

* * *

Sometimes, things happen for a reason.

Sometimes, one small decision can change a life. We are all simply a tangle of threads, interconnecting and tangled together at random intervals throughout our life, each choice affecting another.

One decision.

That's all it takes.

Draco Malfoy was scheduled to work from six fifteen in the morning to three o'clock in the afternoon on Thursday, December sixth. He arrived at six twenty-three, ruffled and with bed-hair and, quite frankly, starving, and somehow managed to survive the next five hours and thirty-seven minutes until his break at noon. He grabbed his coat, grabbed his money - couldn't find his scarf. Searched frantically and eventually found the bloody thing wadded up behind a trash can. This was at 12:03 pm.

At 11:41 am, Thomas Murphy woke up, yawned, stretched, and ambled sleepily downstairs to start brewing coffee. Sasha had already left for work, hours earlier, and he smirked slightly to himself at the fact that it was his day off and that he, unlike his girlfriend, had gotten a chance to sleep in after their late night together. Something smelled funny. He dismissed it as old laundry.

At 12:04 pm, Draco was stopped in the hallway by one of the other trainees asking him a question. He paused and answered politely before glancing at his watch and excusing himself by saying: "I'm meeting some friends for lunch, they're expecting me," which they were. This was a Thursday after all, and Thursdays were the days in which Draco worked the day shift and Lavender didn't work at all and Neville was one of the best at his company so he ate whenever he wanted to and Seamus was broke so he worked every day - which meant Thursdays was when they all ate lunch together, as opposed to a five o'clock coffee break. Draco moved on; this was at 12:07.

It was at 11:53 am when Thomas realised that something was wrong. There was - dog food. Scattered across the pantry floor. That was odd. He called for Peppers and, at no response, made a frustrated sound. Where was the damn dog? What had Sasha done with the insane beagle? He scowled.

At 12:09, Draco paused in the middle of the hallway, closed his eyes in exasperation, and turned back, remembering abruptly that there was a confidential file left on his desk that he'd meant to return - and that if the contents of it were released, there would be hell to pay. This was 12:10. He started jogging back.

It was at 12:01 and Thomas was walking out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice when he saw the front door swinging back and forth on loose hinges - and Sasha laying flat on the floor before it, expression left forever horrified and throat a bloody mess. It was precisely 12:02 when the glass of orange juice shattered against the floor.

The clock had just turned to 12:13 when Draco finally left the Records Room, file in the right place, and started walking back towards the Apparation point. He was going to be late - and Lavender was going to start eating without him, the horrid bitch. He started hurrying.

At 12:04, the vampire attacked for a second time in Thomas Murphy's house, and at 12:09, just as Draco Malfoy was turning back to get that damn file, Thomas Murphy was Apparating to St. Mungo's, bleeding heavily from his right arm, sobbing wildly, and clutching the body of his dead girlfriend.

At 12:14, their paths converged, and Draco Malfoy didn't go to lunch at the Brewery that day after all.

If he had, maybe things would have been different. Because, on that particular Thursday, Harry Potter had decided on the spur of the moment to show up at the Brewery as a surprise. He arrived at 11:55, just as Thomas was realising something was off, and waited around until 12:47, when Draco was in the midst of frantic potion-making. And maybe if things had been different, they would have had nothing more than a casual lunch that day and Draco would have been witty and things would have continued as they always had.

But Draco didn't show. And Harry started to wonder where Draco was. He started to panic.

PTSD set in.

Maybe if Draco had gone to the Brewery, everything would have been perfectly fine.

But instead, Draco stayed to help the bleeding and sobbing Thomas Murphy.

If he hadn't lost his scarf, if he hadn't been stopped by a fellow trainee, if he hadn't forgotten to put that damn file up. If Thomas had simply remembered to set the wards the night before instead of staying up late with his girlfriend. If that vampire had been in a different place at a different time.

Things could have been so, so different.

Sometimes, though, things happen for a reason.

* * *

Three days later, Draco woke to frantic knocking.

"I'm _coming_," he called irritably as he shrugged into a thin flannel bathrobe, the edges of his too-large pajama pants covering his feet as he padded to the front door and nearly tripped over a Healing textbook, cursing loudly and stumbling into the door. The knocking grew louder, turning into a pounding. Draco felt his countenance darken, and he yanked it open. "Stop your _damn_ - Potter?" he said, pausing his grumble mid-sentence as the breathless man pushed his way inside. Draco turned, feeling slightly ridiculous with his open bathrobe and no shirt on and too-big pajama pants. "Er, yeah, come on in, if you want."

"I - Draco," said Potter, turning around to face Draco, and Draco took a step away at the burning green eyes staring out at him from a too-pale face. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask Potter what the hell he thought he was doing, barging in at eight o'clock on a Sunday, but instead he simply closed his mouth and stared into those green, green eyes. "I did it. Draco, I _did it_."

"Did what?" asked Draco, and he barely remembered to push the door shut, using the motion to step even further away from the wide-eyed and wild man before him. He wondered if Potter was having one his episodes. He wondered if he would need to have sex with Potter to help him calm down. He wondered why that idea made him want to grin. He frowned instead. "Are you okay?"

"I left Ginny," said Potter, taking a step towards Draco. Everything within him seemed to radiant triumph and fear and disbelief. He took another step. "I left her," he repeated. "I left her just now."

"For how long?" asked Draco stupidly, flattening himself against the door behind him and feeling his heart break out into a sprint.

"Forever," said Potter, and he stepped closer. "I left her for good."

Everything seemed to freeze inside Draco, his expression permanently frozen in shock, gray eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

Potter was now directly in front of him. "Are you... pleased? Isn't that what you wanted?" asked Potter softly, reaching up with tentative fingers to touch Draco's hair and then hesitating halfway and pulling back.

Draco continued to stare, unable to say anything, think anything, do anything. Potter had what? Potter had... Potter had left his wife. His wife. Ginny Potter, nee Weasley. He had _what_?

"Please say something," said Potter.

"You couldn't have," sputtered Draco. "Couldn't have left her. I mean - I mean, you're _married. _You can't just leave!"

"But I did," said Potter softly.

"But _why_?"

"It's just... you weren't there on Thursday."

"What?"

"You didn't show up," said Potter, looking away. "No one knew where you were, but they didn't seem to think it was that big of a deal for some reason. But it was for me. It was, so much, and I started thinking about a life without you ever there, where you never showed up - and I started to..." he fell silent, shook his head, seemed to gather up his strength. "I started to panic. I had an attack. But I did it away from everyone else, I did it at home. No one could calm me down, especially not Ginny."

"So it all comes back to your PTSD?" asked Draco dubiously, still trying to figure out why Potter was in his flat.

"No!" said Potter, turning to look at Draco again with a wild look. "I swear that's not it! You didn't let me finish. So I was panicking at home, tearing things apart, and suddenly... I can't explain it. It's like you were there but you weren't. I knew you weren't; I'm not insane, Draco. But I just imagined how disappointed you'd be in me, not be able to control myself... I thought about how much you'd changed all by yourself, without anyone to rely on. I've been relying on people so much to calm me down, to help me get through - but you had no one. And just like that, I was calm."

"I still don't understand."

"Neither do I," said Potter honestly. "I managed to calm myself down, without anyone, so why did I suddenly know I didn't love Ginny? I guess - Draco, I don't know who the hell I've been for so long. All I know is that somehow I keep coming back to you, again and again. You," he stepped forward, "with your insecurities and your brilliant potion skills. You," another step, "and the artwork all over your walls, like a cavern of beauty. You," he was right next to Draco and his hand came up again, this time not hesitating as he stroked a blazing pathway against Draco's jaw, "and every single thing about you. How could I be with anyone else?"

"You're just saying this," whispered Draco, still frozen and numb as he waited for Potter to start laughing.

"Please give this a chance," pleaded Potter. "Give _me_ a chance."

And then he kissed him. It was a slow burning, it was a hot whisper of wind, it was a hurricane whipping through a forest and trees were being ripped from their roots and branches were snapping and there - hush, a soft quiet surrounding them, right in the eye of the storm. Suddenly Potter pressed him up against the door and they both groaned into each other's mouths, Potter's hands on Draco's waist, his hands slipping under Draco's shirt and sliding against his skin. It had been so long since they'd touched each other like this, electric and hot, each touch fanning the fire. And then abruptly the kiss turned soft, tender, as though Potter was kissing him for the first time, as though it weren't just about lust but rather love - as though Potter wanted nothing more than to taste Draco for the rest of his life, to gentle nip at Draco's bottom lip.

"Please," breathed Potter, and Draco broke.

"Yes, yes," he said, and Potter's eyes lit up and they were back to kissing hungrily, both of them arching into the other. Draco dragged a hand through Potter's hair, digging his fingers in and groaning as Potter shoved a leg in between Draco's legs, pressing up against the burgeoning erection there. "Please - fuck me, Potter, _fuck me_."

"No," managed Potter, his lips trailing down Draco's jaw and shoving him harder against the door. Draco tilted his chin up, the veins in his neck standing out sharply. "No, I want to feel you inside of me. Want you to come in me."

"I - what?" whispered Draco, and he shoved Potter away out of reflex, expression startled. This had never happened before - this _didn't happen._ It was always Draco being fucked, Draco on the bottom, that's just how it _was_. Not that Draco ever minded. He loved that feeling of being full to the hilt, of that first push - but now that the idea of topping Potter was so close to being a reality - he let out a low groan, his cock twitching at the images that produced. "You've never -"

"Never," whispered Potter, grabbing Draco's hand and tugging the blonde towards him. "Not with anyone. It would be you and only you."

"Ngh," said Draco.

Potter's lips slid against his skin, sliding sensually against his cheek until his mouth was hovering directly above Draco's ear. "Nothing's tighter than a virgin's hole, Draco, can you imagine? Merlin, I want you so badly. I want you to my first and only."

Draco shuddered. "Bedroom," he said, then Potter was walking in front of him and Draco followed in a daze, wondering just how this was happening and whether or not it was a dream and holy shit, _he was about to fuck Harry Potter._

Potter sat down on the bed without a word, dark eyes watching as Draco moved closer and slowly came to stand in between Potter's legs. Without a word, Potter reached out and gripped Draco's pajama pants, tugging them down just enough to pull out his cock - and before Draco could think, Potter leaned in, kissing his way up the length.

"I thought - I thought we were going to fuck," gasped Draco, his cock hardening further as Potter pressed his tongue flat against the side and licked up up until his nose was touching Draco's pelvis.

Green eyes flickered up to meet Draco's and then Potter's lips curved into a smile. "Well get on with it, then."

Draco suck in a sharp breath and Potter smirked, looking as if he were winning something wonderfully. Gray eyes narrowed; wand was retrieved from the inside of his bathrobe. "_Accio_ lube," and, "Get on your back, Potter," spoken in a growl. Something animalistic curled inside Draco's stomach as Potter did just that and then Draco stepped out of his pants, throwing off his robe - and Banished Potter's clothes without another thought, watching as Potter's stomach muscles tightened against the cool air and his cock sprang to attention.

And then everything slowed.

Whereas only moments before their movements had been hectic and eager, now they were deliberate and purposeful, unhurried and wonderful. A lick here, right the crease of Potter's elbow; a gentle kiss right on the fluttering pulse in Potter's neck. Potter's hand dragged up Draco's body, gentle fingers playing over his scars as though trying to remember each one.

"I'm going to make this last," promised Draco, slowly stroking Potter's cock with one practiced hand. "I'm going to make you feel so good, I promise, I promise."

"I know you are," said Potter, looking melted and warm in the midst of Draco's sheets. Draco's room. Draco's bed - not a hotel, no hard springs. Not fucking, no - _love-making_. "Do it, Draco, please, please."

"Shhh," said Draco, and he knelt between Potter's legs, pushing them up until they were bent at the knee on either side of him. Pouring copious amounts of lube on one finger, he kissed Potter's thigh, kissing down down until Potter made a mewling noise and Draco pushed in, watching with fascination as his finger disappeared into the tight ring of muscle.

"Fuck," said Potter, sounding strained. "It feels -"

"I know," said Draco soothingly. "Focus on something else. You're going to feel so good with my cock in you, oh Merlin." Tentatively, he moved his finger, in and out, leaning in and kissing the top of Potter's cock as he did so - and feeling Potter clench around his finger in surprise. "Just relax," he whispered, and for a moment it felt as Potter were staying purposely tense - and then, slowly, so slowly, Draco started moving again, curling his finger just so -

"NGH," said Potter, making a noise like nothing else. "_Again_."

Grinning, Draco set to finding that spot again, pulling out only a second to pour more lube on his finger before pushing back in; the lube, too much, seeped out of Potter's tight hole, and Draco felt the grin slid off his face. "God, I'm going to feel you up with come," he said, feeling Potter moan underneath him. "Okay - okay, shh, I'm going to do another."

"Fuck, just _go_," groaned Potter, shifting underneath him. "Need you, Draco, need you in me right now."

"So impatient," said Draco, but the words made his cock twitch again and he set to work entering another finger into Potter, licking his lips and feeling the base of his cock tense as he imagined it was his cock sinking into Potter, filling Potter up - Merlin, just watching Potter squirm under his fingers was enough to make him come, after so long of imagining it. It had always been off-limits, always just too far off to really consider, that he would one day - "Look at you, riding my fingers," breathed Draco as Potter made a noise and pushed down on Draco's hand. "You want it, so badly."

"So badly," Potter agreed.

"Me," said Draco and kissed him, groaning into Potter's mouth as his fingers twisted. "Only me."

"Three," ordered Potter.

"You need to wait," chided Draco gently, his fingers scissoring within Potter's hole. The muscles protested, clenching around him. He pushed them in and out, feeling Potter shudder slightly beneath him. "Going too fast will -"

"_Three_."

Taking in another heady breath, Draco pulled his hand away and slathered them up a third time, his hand trembling slightly as he hovered over Potter's body and then pushed in, his blood thrumming as Potter made a high, keening too much. Instantly, Draco froze, fingers deep inside of Potter, and waited until Potter made a jerky motion with his head before slowly guiding his fingers back out. He pushed them in, searching, searching - Potter jerked off the bed, arching into Draco, and grabbed onto the sheets.

"Want you," whispered Draco.

"Do it," gasped Potter. "Be inside of me. Please."

"Say you want me," said Draco, taking out his fingers.

"I want you."

"Say you need me," murmured Draco, pouring lube onto his cock and sliding it generously up and down the length.

"I _need_ you."

"God, look at you, begging for it," and Draco pushed in, groaning out loud as heat engulfed the head of his cock, pausing just a few inches in to wait for Potter's body to adjust. Sweat covered his chest in a thin sheen and he stayed hovering over Potter, their eyes locked; Potter's were nearly black.

"Move," whispered Potter. "Please."

Everything was a haze; a haze of soft murmurings and warm touches, a haze of slow moving and shallow thrusting until Potter was calling out for more and Draco started speeding up, his hips making a sensuous rhythm as he pushed into Potter again and again.

"Say my name," grunted Draco, arms on either side of Potter as he pushed into him, their faces so close together that each breath of his intermingled with each breath of Potter's.

"Draco," said Potter, and then, as Draco changed his angle sharply, "_Draco_. Is this - what it's always like for you? Merlin - Merlin, I need you," and then he was lifting his hips up to meet Draco and they were moving together and Draco reached between them, gripping Potter's cock with one hand as moving in time with his own movement until Potter was writhing underneath him and calling out and, "Draco, I'm coming, oh Merlin," and everything within Potter seemed to tighten and it was only three short thrusts later before Draco was spilling out inside Potter, his face buried in Potter's neck as he tried to catch his breath.

"I love you," said Potter.

Draco rolled off, landing on his side of the bed and staring up at the ceiling. "You what?"

"I love you," he repeated, sounding breathless and entranced and just a little lost. "I really do. Please believe me."

Draco said, "Okay. Okay. I - I think this is too much."

Potter rolled over onto his side, staring down at Draco with eyes the colour of an endless field. "You don't have to say it back right now. Just know that I do."

"People are not going to like the fact that you left her."

"I'm not going to let that dictate my life," said Potter softly. "She said she understood."

Astonished: "She did?"

"Well... she wasn't happy, obviously," and Potter moved to lie on his back again, staring up at the ceiling. "We both said some things we shouldn't have. But right at the end, right before I left - she said she knew something was coming, that we weren't supposed to be together."

"How is Weasley going to react? What with it being his sister?"

Potter made a small noise and then rolled over, turning his back to Draco. They stayed like that for a moment, both silent and something building between them until - "Draco?" asked Potter in a small voice, sounding younger than he had since this entire thing started.

"Harry?"

"Can you..." He shifted, glancing hesitatingly over his shoulder with a wistful expression and curling his legs somewhat. "Please?"

It took Draco a long moment to figure out what Potter wanted - too long, Potter's expression started closing up again. But then, Draco turned on his side and slowly scooted in until his front was pressed against Potter's back and his legs were tangled with Potter's and his nose was buried in Potter's clean-smelling hair. "Like this?" he asked quietly, sinking into Potter's warm body like he'd wanted to for so long.

"Just like that," whispered Potter, and he reached back, fumbling for a moment until he found Draco's hand, his own shaking as they intertwined their fingers. "Can we just - stay like this for a moment? Please?"

"Anything," murmured Draco, and with a start he realised he meant it. He would do anything for this bloody man right here in his arms, dirty and broken and unable to make a single right decision. "We can do anything you want."

"Good," sighed Potter and Draco could feel him relaxing slowly, relaxing back into Draco and soon his breathing evened out and his body melted completely and they stayed like that, Draco wide awake and holding Harry Potter for the first time since this damn thing started.

And just like that, it came out.

"I love you," he whispered into the curve of Potter's neck. "I love you," he murmured as he pressed a kiss into that messy black hair. He loved everything about him and he held him closer, wondering if they were going to get through this and knowing they would.

**EPILOGUE**

The first thing Draco Malfoy did when he saw Ginny Potter in the grocery store three weeks later was try and pretend he was a sack of potatoes.

This was a lot harder than it sounded, as his hair was blonde and his skin was pale and and he happened to be wearing a bright red scarf, so he looked rather the opposite of a potato. And, of course, this was all rather unfortunate because as soon as she saw him, she started walking towards him with a determined look on her face.

"Er," said Draco once it was obvious that she was, in fact, there to speak to him. Or maybe curse him. Or kill him. The options were plentiful. Standing up, he brushed off his shirt and then looked around, reaching out to pat the stand of potatoes. "Very... very nice. You can make so many delightful recipes from potatoes, did you know? Including, but not limited to, potato soup, french fries, mashed -"

"Malfoy," she said calmly. "Let's just talk, okay? I know this great coffee shop; you'll love it."

"Uh," he said, trying to think of a way out of it.

Her wand flashed, and the words _Bat Boogey Hex _came floating to the forefront of his mind.

"Are you here to kill me? Because we're in public," he pointed out. "And this is a Muggle grocery store. And it's only two days after Christmas, which means New Years is coming up and why can't you just wait till next year?"

"Do shut up," she advised.

"Okay then," and what else was he really supposed to say? Ron still wasn't talking to Potter; Draco still got flooded with questions from the paparazzi every time he stepped near a Wizarding facility; he could only imagine what she had been going through this entire time. Even without properly knowing her, he could note the hunched shoulders and dark violet circles carved under her eyes that signified how difficult this had all been for her. It had been a hard December for all of them, and wasn't it his fault? He tried to imagine what might have happened if he'd never tried to help Potter in St. Mungo's so many months ago.

She took a step towards him, took his arm, and squeezed a bit too tightly to be considered friendly. He blinked.

When he opened his eyes, they were at the Brewery.

"Hmm," he said.

"It's really good," she promised. "Let's go inside."

"That was a 'hmm' as in, 'hmm, you really shouldn't Apparate without giving people warning first'," he corrected her, eyes trailing after her as she crunched through the snow. "I had a cart full of groceries, you know. And that was a Muggle grocery store."

"File a complaint," she tossed over her shoulder, and the door clanged shut.

Draco glared at it for a second before stomping after her, the tip of his nose already turning an icy red from the shock of the cold.

Luna was behind the counter.

"Hello, Dragon," she said in her dreamy lilt. "The usual?"

Ginny gave him an evil look.

"Uh... what usual?" asked Draco, coughing into his hand and then gave up and sighed. "Yes, sure, I'll have my usual. No hats this time, though, Luna."

"Is today not a good day then?" Luna frowned and then turned to Ginny. "He always gets a hat, you see."

Draco flushed and looked away, remembering for an instant what Luna had looked like in his basement, all too-thin and stringy hair - and then it was gone and the coffee shop was _his _coffee shop and he was standing in it with Ginny Potter of all people, most likely about to get murdered.

"Yeah, _Dragon_, why not get a hat?" said Ginny, lifting her eyebrows. "Along with your _usual_?"

Shit, he was going to get murdered wearing a hat. How embarrassing could this get? "Okay, add in a hat to my total," he said, and he really didn't have any self-control whatsoever when it came to Luna Lovegood and her frowns, did he? Damn. And then he smirked slightly. "And one for her, as well. Ginny would _love _a hat, wouldn't you, Ginny?"

Ginny glared again.

Before Draco really wanted it, he had his coffee in one hand and a hat on his head and was following Ginny to a remote booth in the back of the shop, directly next to a window that looked out over an alley. He slid in across from her, wondering if she would choose to kill him quickly or slowly - and felt his insides grow heavier and heavier as nothing happened.

He had gulped half his coffee (and sequentially burned the roof of his mouth) by the time she sighed and set down her cup, looking at him with weary eyes, all sweetness gone. "When I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up and play Quidditch professionally," she told him.

What the hell was she on about? Draco looked out at the empty restaurant, glanced back at the empty alleyway, then finally settled for staring deep into the depths of his cup. "And did you?"

"No," she said evenly. "I work at Gringotts, as a cursebreaker. When I was a little girl, I also thought I would be married and have kids by the time I was twenty-two. I'm twenty-four."

He didn't know what to say to this comment either, so he simply didn't say anything at all.

She sighed again. "Things didn't turn out the way I thought they were going to, Malfoy, is what I'm trying to say. I thought I would marry Harry Potter, and I did, but I thought we were going to live happily ever after, and we didn't."

"Potter can be kind of an arse sometimes," Draco volunteered, because he even though he loved Potter, he definitely wasn't under the impression that Potter was a saint.

Her lips twisted in what might have been a wry smile if she hadn't looked like she was in utter pain. "You didn't see what he was like, right after the war, did you? No. You were busy being a Malfoy, with your family and your money problems, and that's fine. But I went through it with him, okay? Me. I listened to him scream in his sleep for _months_ after the war," and she leaned in, pushing her coffee cup to the side and looking at him with brown eyes that accused. "I saw him at his utter worst, and I stuck with him."

He tried to unglue his mouth and found he really couldn't.

"And then suddenly - eight months ago, things changed. He had stopped screaming in his sleep years ago, but things never were really right with Harry; he was cut off - he was different from how he was at Hogwarts. But slowly, gradually, he started to become more like himself. More open." She stared at him. "That was you, wasn't it?"

Draco looked away.

"I'm not saying that I'm happy. Hell, my life is shit right now. And I'm not saying I like you, because I haven't seen you change any from how much of a dick you were at school. You were wrong, but he was the one who was married. And now... he's happy. And a part of me still loves him. How can I be angry at you for that?"

Draco looked back at her, utterly astonished. "Are you giving me your blessing?"

This time, it looked more like a smile, albeit still a bit strangled. "No. But I'm trying to tell you that you have probably seen him more clearly than anyone else has in years. I'm trying to tell you that you have something special, goddammit, so don't go fucking it up."

"I'll - try not to."

There was a long silence as he drank lukewarm coffee and she looked out the window. Was this weird meeting over? He hadn't even been able to check out his groceries and now -

"What did you want to be when you were little?"

"Me? Um..." A slight blush crept up his neck. "An heir. I never wanted to work, I simply wanted to go to fancy parties like my mother did and tell people what to do, like my father did."

Her eyes met his again. "Isn't that funny? Neither one of our dreams came true, yet it's really a good thing that yours didn't come true while mine..." She trailed off.

"You can still do something," he told her. "You're only twenty-two. There are teams out there that will still accept you, if only because you're Ginny Potter. It's a start, even if you don't like it."

Her expression turned vacant. "Quidditch. What I loved most. I wanted to travel all around the world and become someone that people knew for me, instead of because who I married."

He shouldn't ask it, he really shouldn't ask it, not when she was all melancholy and miserable - "How was Christmas?"

Her eyes sharpened back in on him like an eagle's. "Fine, thank you. Did you think it would be miserable just because he wasn't there? He's not the center of my life, hasn't been for a long time. He was gone even when he was there, so this year wasn't much different from years past."

Draco swallowed, thinking of him and Potter and Narcissa and Andromeda and Teddy - and then later on, him and Potter with the regular Brewery crew. There had been laughter and shouting and too much drinking and present opening and it had been his best Christmas in a long time. "Your... brother -"

"Ron doesn't know what to think," she said, twisting her cup. "Wants to be angry on my behalf, wants to comfort his best friend. I think he's hurt he didn't know about you two sooner, though what he would have done if he had... It wasn't you that ruined everything, just so you know, so don't go getting smug and thinking you can take all the credit. It happened a long time ago, when Harry let himself fall apart - and more importantly, when he refused to let anyone put him back together."

"He's like that."

They stared at each other, perhaps wondering what it meant, this entire conversation. Wondering what the rest of the road would hold for each of them, if Potter and Draco would last, if Ginny would do something different with her life.

"Are you a good Healer?" she finally said, breaking the silence.

He made a face. "We find out if we passed Basic Training next week, if we can go into specialized Healing. Who knows?"

"I just think it's funny, that's all."

"What's funny?

"Oh," said Ginny, and now she started gathering up her things, making a move to leave. "You're only a Healer because the Head Healer came to Harry and asked if you had truly moved on from the Death Eaters, if your Mark really didn't mean anything to you. You got in because of Harry, and then two months later, that's how you two met." She stood up, giving him the closest resemblance to a true smile yet. "Funny how that works out, isn't it? Hey, pay for my coffee; it's the least you can do."

"Sure," said Draco slowly, too stunned to get up or make a move yet. "Right. He really did that?"

Another smile, slow and dryly amused. "Goodbye, Malfoy. Take care of him for me, yeah?"

All those times. All those times Draco had talked about getting in, about how much he wanted it - about how he couldn't understand; _all those times, _Potter had known the truth and kept silent. Potter had thought he was worth a second chance.

And he was. He was worth a second chance.

Settling back in his booth, Draco straightened his hat, took a sip of his coffee, and smiled a warm smile.

Next year was going to be a good year.


End file.
